


Footnotes

by kateofallpeople



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Betrayal, Drama, F/M, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Era, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Love Letters, Poison, Romance, Secret Identity, Secret Relationship, Threats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-22
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-27 09:05:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 57,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/976961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kateofallpeople/pseuds/kateofallpeople
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione hides letters in library books - but never expects a reply. She and her new friend confide in each other, ultimately fall in love - but can such a love story turn deadly when their identities are revealed? Sequel coming soon!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She never expected to get a reply. Not an intelligent one, at least.

In fact, Hermione never even expected that anyone would find her little notes within the year, let alone the century. Hogwart's library was vast, the towers crammed full of nearly ancient texts and information. There had to be thousands and thousands of books in that room - and yet someone had picked up the very book she'd planted her first letter in. Three times. Someone had looked at the very section, the very pages in which she'd inserted a few small bits of parchment, folded only once in half. She'd written them on a whim - in whatever desperate attempt she'd made to make a new friend in her sixth year. It was almost a joke, really, just bookish, boring Hermione Granger stepping out on a limb for a stranger - no, for the possibility of a stranger. There had been two from obviously young students picking up sixth and seventh year books out of curiosity - the grammar alone was enough to make her cringe. But the third was beautiful - whoever took the time to reply was well spoken, intricate, and dare she say - charming?The very thought made her feel so insignificant, so pathetic, that in very nearly also losing her friends this year, she decided to do something she'd never dreamed of. She took a chance.

She wrote back.

* * *

"Honestly, the both of you are going to fail your classes if you don't at least attempt to study... Harry, Ron, are you even listening?"

Ron nodded, though she knew it was for show. Harry snapped his head up, intent on trying to beat Ron at Wizard's chess for the ninth time that evening. They'd been at it since they came back from Quidditch tryouts. It had gone relatively well - Hermione had made sure of it - but since then they'd been so wrapped up in 'friendly competition' that at this rate, they wouldn't finish their eight inches on sleeping draughts by the next day. Harry looked down again and Hermione sighed, looking around at the common room in which they sat. High ceilings, the roaring fire, the plush chaise she herself was leaning on, quill and parchment in hand. It wasn't a terrible place to be, but lately attempting to spend any quality time with Harry and Ron in the room had been a disaster. She sighed again, this time louder, hoping that either boy might take notice. They didn't.

"Well if neither of you care about being expelled for poor grades, fine. I'll be - "

"In the library, we know." Ron's snide remark about her whereabouts stung - more than she'd have liked. She turn on her heel and left, nearly in tears again.

What was it about Ronald Weasley that could make her burst out crying nearly at any minute? She knew, of course, that it was partially due to the fact that she cared about him - probably much more than she should - but what else was it? His hurtful tone? The fact that Harry almost never backed her up? She loved them both dearly - Harry as a brother and... well, she'd hoped that Ron had grown enough in the last few months to finally make his move, but he hadn't yet. He hadn't matured a bit, obviously. He -

Whatever bitter thoughts she had cleared as she stepped through the library doors. The smell had reached her from a foot or two before she reached the inside, musky and musty and dry, but it was the feeling she got inside, too. It was almost warmer somehow in the library than in the rest of the castle, more inviting perhaps. It sent her staggering for a minute or two but - no, that was just Malfoy bumping into her on his way out of the library.

"Watch where you're going, mudblood. Can't take up the whole doorway with all your bloody hair."

She ignored the jab - it was a typical Malfoy smack, of course. She'd actually managed to tame her hair quite a bit over the summer - something Draco likely noticed as he stammered out the last few words of his insult. It fell softly just below her shoulders now, nearly straight, and she was proud of it. He noticed. It made her smirk all the way into her corner cubbyhole, setting her bookbag on the desk and sitting down straightaway to begin her work. She nearly laughed at the fact that she could now say she'd left Draco Malfoy nearly speechless. But it would have been ridiculous behavior, of course, for the library.

* * *

It was nearing ten o'clock when she was finally preparing to leave. Her essay - twice as long, twice as detailed, and twice as good as anyone else in her class would do - was rolled and tucked neatly into the side of her bag, her quill and ink beside it. It satisfied her - it wasn't her best work, by far, but with a subject as broad as sleeping draughts, it was impossible for her to write everything she knew without writing an entirely separate textbook. It would have to do.

She stole a quiet minute to herself - everyone else had cleared out nearly an hour ago, done with their studies for a day. Hermione however, had stayed. As usual. She took this minute to think of what was going on around her - her best friends too wrapped up in Quidditch and conspiracy theories to bother with her, Ginny was mysteriously missing to visit 'friends' most nights, and Neville was almost constantly in the herbology greenhouses. Hermione hadn't bothered trying to find Luna. It was hopeless, the girl was always lost somewhere.

She came upon the decision that she'd have to make a few new friends - but because of how people saw her, would she be accepted by anyone? She knew she irritated a great deal of those around her - though perhaps it was a bout of jealousy that no one ever did as well as her in classes - but couldn't think of anyone else to speak to. The idea came to her in a flash - she'd write letters. And leave them in books. She pulled a few scraps of clean parchment from her bag, scribbled messages, and wandered around the library for a few moments tucking them into books that students may be needing soon, based on what they'd be learning that month. Someone was bound to find one of them, right?

It was only when she was nearly back to Gryffindor tower that Hermione realized she'd forgotten to think of a way for anyone to reply to these anonymous little notes. _Ironic, of course._ She thought. _The brains of our entire school can't remember something as necessary as a return instruction._

The next day, ten notes - with return instructions - were exchanged for the very notes she'd left the night before. Hermione took pride in her little experiment - was anyone else at Hogwarts enough of a bookworm, a student, to find her letters? She would have to wait and see.

 _Dear Student of Hogwarts,_ she began. _I won't tell you my name, but I will tell you who I am, in time. I am just a student looking for someone to talk to - a friend, if you will. I left these in carefully chosen books in order to target those I might like to befriend - those with brains, with a need for knowledge (none of these letters were left in necessary reading, so you know.) I am a girl - if my handwriting doesn't give that away, I don't know what will. I am above fourth year, but I won't say which year. I'm doing this mostly for fun - though usual correspondence is not unwanted. If you wish to reply, please do so between pages three hundred and three hundred and one of the Handbook of Hippogriff Psychology. I look forward to your reply._


	2. Chapter 2

She'd very nearly forgotten about the letters. Halloween had just passed, and with it came Hermione's biggest worries - the promises of the first practical examinations of the year in most of her classes. She'd been in the library often enough that she should have remembered writing them, but didn't seem to do so until she read the title of the book she'd mentioned in return instructions, almost by accident.

"Handbook of Hippogriff Psychology..." She removed the tome from the shelf and saw long finger marks in the dust on the cover. Someone had been here recently. Someone had likely found her letter. She sat down immediately, flipping open to the three hundredth page. Sitting there in the crease were three small folded bits of parchment. She eagerly unwrapped them, discarding the first two that were obviously from MUCH younger students. The third was slightly larger, sealed shut with pure white wax, and the had been trimmed neatly. Someone was a perfectionist as Hermione herself.

She carefully pulled through the wax, smoothing the parchment out in front of her like a map. Perhaps it was an appropriate comparison - this letter could lead her to a new friend.

_How on earth do I address such a letter? I found it only by chance, if you'll believe me on that. I hadn't originally meant to pick up the book your first letter was left in - I picked up Intermediate Transfiguration instead of my intended Advanced book. Can't start studying for tests too early this month, I've got enough on my plate as it is. I'm a sixth year - I'll go ahead and say it. But I won't say my house. You probably shouldn't either - if one of us ends up being from an opposing house, we'd probably just end this where it stands. In all honesty, I've no idea why I'm writing this to begin with. It probably has something to do with being bored out of my mind, and yet feeling bollocksed as all hell with what I have ahead of me. Perhaps I'm just doing this to see if you return a letter after this one, or if it was all just a game - I don't even know if the writer of this original letter is still at school with me, so I may be very well writing to nobody. If you aren't nobody, drop me a line in old Lockhart's last book before he went mad. Talking probably wouldn't kill either of us. Cheers, I guess._

The writing was neat, even, and lengthy. She hadn't expected anyone else to write back - but this person seemed affable, willing to write back and forth. That was all she needed. It was definitely a male - the writing was distinctly masculine. Who could it be, though? The ratio of males to females in their year was about even, but if he was in her year, then she definitely had at least one class with him. Estimating that there were almost eight hundred students at Hogwarts, that would make just over a hundred students per year, fifty or sixty males. He could be one of any one of those boys, be he Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, or Hufflepuff. He could be interesting or dull, tall or short. There was only one way to find out. She discarded the first two letters, and tucked the third into her bag.

* * *

"Hermione!"

"Hmm?"

"We've been calling you for a minute. Have you done the Transfiguration essay?"

"I have."

"Can we see it?"

She rolled her eyes, flipping open the top of her bag and removing the rolled parchment. Ron's hand went to grab it, so she handed it directly to Harry. "You have an hour with it - I'm going to the library early tonight."

"Earlier than last night?"

"Yes, Ron. I've got some things to take care of."

In honesty, she had a letter to drop off, which as it sat now was partially written in her bag. She took it out, unfolded it on the book in her lap, and pulled out her self-inking quill. She'd begun the letter a few times since the night she found it, nearly a week ago, but after putting it off long enough, she figured that whatever she wrote would be good enough. Someone had responded. Someone had found her letters. And wanted to talk to her, apparently. She touched quill to paper.

_Hello,_

_I'm sorry it's taken me so many days to respond. I nearly forgot to check to see if anyone had responded to my first letter, and then I've waited nearly a week since I found your note back... it's probably much too long. At least I know someone in my year found it - I got two letters from rather young students, awful really, I threw them out. I wondered at first what I could talk to you about, and then I realized I could probably talk to you about anything. Firstly, my best friend is quite popular in our house, well liked and yet a little shy. But tends to spend most of his time with our other friend - who's not very bright, but has good intentions all the same. When the two of them get together, it's like I cease to exist. They play chess, they talk about their interests, they cheat off my homework - as all less-intelligent friends would. Have you ever had that problem? I find it nearly impossible to say no - it's not like I don't have other friends, I suppose, but none that I really talk to or spend time with. So I let them. It's probably against the rules, but we haven't been caught up to this point, I figure as long as they don't find a way to cheat off my NEWTs next year, I should be alright._

_Something feels off about this year, doesn't it? I can't describe it, really, but it feels like everyone is restless - eager to do this or that, to spend time with friends constantly or study too much or to get something else done, a bigger goal. Something else feels wrong though too, perhaps I'm just being silly but it really feels as though something bad might happen. Of course, with the rise of He-who-must-not-be-named, of course anyone would be feeling that. I fear for something else, too, though I can't say what. Perhaps it's just stress over my first few exams._

_If you'd like to reply, leave it in Eldred Worple's bit on Vampires. 'Til next time._

He'd been checking every night for a reply, but had received none. He knew that this letter had to be recent - he had a feeling about them that he couldn't quite shake, either. Anticipation, perhaps. He knew that there was the possibility of it being a stranger, or a friend, or who knew what else. There was the possibility that it was in fact a year or two or a hundred years old - though he doubted this highly. He stepped into the library once more - he'd decided that if there wasn't a reply by the end of the week tomorrow, he would give up. He walked the aisles somewhat slowly, taking quick note of those in the library - only the usual bookworms were present, plus possibly a few fifth year students studying for OWL practice exams or whatnot. It was a relatively empty night. He doubted he'd find a reply, on such a night, but decided of course to check anyway. Lockhart, Gilderoy, Magical Me. It was his autobiography, apparently he'd written it before he went off his rocker. He opened the front cover and nearly had a heart attack. Nestled neatly there, just inside the front cover, was a neatly folded and trimmed bit of parchment, just larger than the previous. It was sealed in black wax. He stuffed it in his pocket, leaving quickly and quietly so as not to attract any more attention than he possibly already had. Whoever she was, she was here with him at Hogwarts, now. She found him interesting enough to write back. And with any luck, she wasn't horrifyingly ugly. Perhaps she'd be a bird Draco could attract. It wasn't out of the question.

* * *

Hermione found herself unable to sleep at all. She'd sealed her four-poster shut and put up a silencing charm, and still couldn't find enough peace to drift to sleep. Perhaps it was the thoughts in her head - the possibility of who it might be, of what they might say next if they hadn't yet given up. She had written up a list of every male student in their sixth year at Hogwarts - alphabetical, and by house. She'd put appropriate notes next to each of them, including what they looked like and what she knew about their behaviors. Perhaps she could figure it out, in time. Figuring out who it was, though, wasn't at the front of her mind. No, what sat there was the thought that despite not having any idea who this penpal was, she was dying to tell him everything about her and her life. It was curious, really, and almost annoying. In time, Hermione felt that she really might connect with this person after all. But what good was connecting with someone if you had no idea who they actually were?


	3. Chapter 3

_I'm not the confiding type. Not to my friends, family, anyone. I don't trust anyone - and honestly, who is there to trust these days? With all the fear, I think the most rational thing is to trust only yourself. However, I find myself trusting you. Partially because you have no idea who I am, I have no idea who you are... it's nice, really. I can just write to you and not have to deal with judgement for who I am or what I'm involved in. I can confide in you. That's strange for me. Please tell me if I ever go too far or tell you more than you want to know, or if you want to stop this... I understand it's lucky that we found this by chance anyway, but I do feel lucky to have found your letter. Perhaps, though, we should come up with names or something - a code name, of sorts. If you make yours something embarrassing, I will too. Personally I would find it all too appropriate if we went with literary characters, for the sake of books.  
_

_This is the only good thing that's happened to me all year. In all honesty, the rest of it has been disastrous. I was at first glad to get away from my home for school for a while, but circumstances arose that made me dread coming back to school. Among other things, a girl I used to find attractive now won't get away from me. She insists we spend entirely too much time together, hanging on me sometimes and making me look like an absolute idiot. Not that I care about what my friends think, really. They're all about as bright as she is - and that's not saying much for them. I think my only solace right now is, honestly, my school work. My classes take forever to end, but there's something new in each of them, so at least it's not all the same material. I'm actually not doing terrible in them - I'm pretty well ranked in our class. I'd rather write an essay right now than have to carry a normal conversation with empty headed fools. I wonder what it might be like to be a professor. I've thought about it before, actually. I might like that, to just stay at Hogwarts all the time and help shape the new generation. I'm afraid of what could become of Hogwarts, though, if this war doesn't end well. If it's still standing, you may be able to come back in a few years and find me here, teaching students just like ourselves, sitting at that high table, and generally becoming annoyed with everything around me. They all seem to do that, don't they?_

He'd drawn a small smiley face next to it, and it was so poorly misshapen that she could tell he wasn't used to doodling. He was intelligent - he liked his classes. He wanted to teach. Where had this guy been, for the last six years? She almost didn't want to find out. He could be someone she sat near every day in class. She had to admit, there were a number of somewhat charming boys in her year, chivalrous and kind and everything she'd imagine this man could be. But what if he wasn't? What if he was annoying, or angry, or worse? What if he was actually just a pretender? Just someone toying with her head, meaning to confuse her and work her up?

But he'd said something she couldn't quite shake. _I do feel lucky to have found your letter._ And what about that other bit? _This is the only good thing that's happened to me all year._ Nobody wrote that without meaning it. And he'd been witty - _They all seem to do that, don't they?_ She smiled when she read it again. He was joking with her. Very rarely did anyone besides her closest friends attempt to joke with her. Partially, she surmised, because she was the ultimate bookworm-slash-nerd, the hard worker, the strict one. But that didn't mean she was totally heartless! He understood that, whoever he was. He knew she could joke around and laugh and have a good time. And perhaps that would come to fruition, one day. Perhaps one day she'd meet him.

She folded the letter exactly as he had, slipping it back into her bag and pulling out a fresh sheet of parchment and her self-inking quill.

"Who do you keep writing to?"Ron was, following his usual nosey self, peering over her shoulder at the blank parchment with a disappointed look on his face from not having seen anything interesting. "I want to know!"

"Honestly, Ronald. It's just... a friend."

"What friend?" He blinked at her, just inches from her face. She was reminded of just how nice his eyes were, pale blue and bright...

Harry broke her concentration. "You're writing someone? Who?"

"Someone I... met. Both of you, could you please just leave me to write?"

"Not at all, 'Mione. What kind of friends would we be if we did?" Harry grinned at her, Ron was still looking on impatiently, irritating her within an inch of sanity.

"The quiet, considerate kind."

"Not us at all. Who is this person?"

"You're going to laugh at me."

"I won't. Ron might." Beside him, Ron shrugged, nodding. At least he'd admit it now.

"I started sticking notes in books. And I never expected to get a reply. I just wanted... to see if anyone would find them, I guess. And someone did. I was amazed, I thought nobody would even find them this year. But I was smart, I suppose, to put them in texts that students use somewhat frequently. Anyway, this is the second letter he's written me. So he's here, walking these halls, and he's in our year. I just don't know who he is."

"It's a he?"

"I just said that, Ron."

"Oh."

Harry grimaced. "You don't think... this could be like Tom Riddle's Diary?"

"No, Harry. Nothing like it. I can tell this is real. There was something that just felt off about Riddle's diary. This is nothing like that."

"How can you be so sure?"

"The writing doesn't exactly appear by magic. I'm not being sucked into any memories. It's not as if this person is trying to get me to do something or trust them with any secrets. We're just talking, as any sort of pen pal might."

"I still don't trust it, but that's up to you, Hermione." Harry picked up his textbook again, apparently not trying to force the issue. Ron, however, hadn't been studying to begin with. He still hung over her shoulder, breathing on her. She could feel his breath tickle her neck, and it reminded her of simpler times over the summer, a long embrace late at night at the Burrow...

"I don't like him, whoever he is. I just don't trust him."

"I don't see why not. I trust him, and you trust me, correct?"

"So?"

"So trust my judgement, Ron! It's just a new friend."

"That you've never met face to face."

"I probably have, though. He's a student in our year, I'm bound to have said at least a few words to him at one point."

"So the two of you have no idea who the other one is?"

"Yes. It's lovely, really."

"It's weird, if you ask me. I still don't trust him."

"To not trust my judgement is to not trust me."

"Then maybe I don't trust you or your judgement as much as you want, but it's still my trust! You're still one of my best friends! What if something happens?"

At this point, half the heads in the common room were now staring them down, curious. She spoke low, barely making the effort to glace sideways at him.

"Nothing is going to happen, Ronald. And if it does, I give you full permission to say that you have more common sense than I for a full month. But nothing will happen."

Ron, feeling hopeful at the prospect of having something over Hermione, let out a grunt before smirking and turning back to bother Harry. Hermione regained her calm again and picked up her quill.

* * *

The reply was there by nightfall, and he was glad for it. He slipped the note into his pocket and left the library, not making eye contact with anyone. As for his reason to be there in the first place, he'd checked out a book on magical theory, seemingly for a class, and it was tucked under his arm as he walked. He had to make it look like he had some other reason for going to the library so often, his friends were already suspicious. Though they knew, of course, that he was more intelligent than they, and therefore had more work to do. It worked, for now. He descended down into the dungeons, shut his dormitory door behind him, and sealed his four poster shut. There were secrets and things to share with friends, but this was something just for Draco.

_There are, of course, things about Hogwarts that bother me incessantly. But for the most part, I wouldn't hate it if I stayed here forever. There's something about this place that I can't get enough of. I mean, we've been here over five years, and I still feel like there's so much of it left to discover. It's unlike anything else, really. Perhaps that's part of why the Professors are how they are - perhaps they've already discovered most of it! Surely Dumbledore has, he's been here long enough. I have, however, dreamed about just staying at Hogwarts for many years. I could work here until I retire. I'd probably teach transfiguration, or charms, or perhaps Potions, I'm rather decent at them. Perhaps when the war ends, I'll come straight here. I'd like that. Perhaps we can just become professors together and finally find out who each other is! That would be marvelous, really. I'm sure we'd get along quite nicely, from what we've exchanged so far. Perhaps we could even make jokes at the high table._

She'd scribbled in return instructions at the bottom, and he tucked the note under his pillow. She shared hopes and dreams with him, as he'd done for her. This was new territory. This was not the snarky, judgemental, cruel perceptions of his friends. This was something he had never really experienced before, and he was afraid he quite liked it. He wanted to tell her more, to ask her more about herself. But the apprehension he felt about finally opening up to someone was too great. He'd reply tomorrow, perhaps. _  
_

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

_There are, of course, things about Hogwarts that bother me incessantly. But for the most part, I wouldn't hate it if I stayed here forever. There's something about this place that I can't get enough of. I mean, we've been here over five years, and I still feel like there's so much of it left to discover. It's unlike anything else, really. Perhaps that's part of why the Professors are how they are - perhaps they've already discovered most of it! Surely Dumbledore has, he's been here long enough. I have, however, dreamed about just staying at Hogwarts for many years. I could work here until I retire. I'd probably teach transfiguration, or charms, or perhaps Potions, I'm rather decent at them. Perhaps when the war ends, I'll come straight here. I'd like that. Perhaps we can just become professors together and finally find out who each other is! That would be marvelous, really. I'm sure we'd get along quite nicely, from what we've exchanged so far. Perhaps we could even make jokes at the high table._

He only wished it could be that easy. They could sit beside each other and laugh, and talk smack about the most annoying students, and sit together and watch Quidditch matches. Wouldn't that be nice? It was, he realized with a start, the first time he'd imagined himself really doing something he enjoyed in the future. Really having a good time. Why couldn't things just be simpler for him? Why couldn't he have that opportunity? He was forced into a life, into a role, he really didn't want. He'd gone with it for sixteen years so far, and his sixteenth would be his last. He couldn't allow the idea of having a good time seem like such a far-fetched dream, he had to make it a reality. He felt like replying to her letter immediately, but held back - if he did, he'd probably let on too much, and she'd be able to tell who he was. He couldn't risk that. He folded the letter and put it in the inside pocket of his coat, for safe keeping. When he could think of a way to put his current situation in vague terms, he'd reply. Until then, he could only wait, and dream.

* * *

"It's been three days."

"And no reply?"

"None."

"Good."

"Harry!"

"I'm sorry, 'Mione, it's just... you know I don't like this."

"I'm aware, but honestly Harry, if you had read the letters..."

"Would you let me?"

She blinked and very nearly laughed. "Of course. Let me get them." She climbed the stairs to her dormitory and came back quickly, a stack of a few letters in hand. She handed them to Harry, whose face softened with each letter.

"I see. And you have no idea who he is, still?"

"You know as much as I know. That's every letter he's written me so far."

"Interesting. Do you really intend on keeping this up?"

"Yes."

"For how long? I mean, obviously you've got the length of the school year, but what about after?"

"We'd figure it out, somehow. I don't know, perhaps we'd reveal our identities at the end of term."

"I see. What if it's someone really dreadful?"

"Harry, you read the letters. He's... whoever he is, he's not dreadful."

"I suppose. I'm just..."

"You're worried, Harry. I know. You can't really fully trust someone you don't know, right? That's why we don't really divulge anything - we just _talk_. It's nice, really."

"Ron's not much of a talker." He was trying to make her feel better. It was doing just the opposite.

"Anyway, Harry, I'm waiting for the next letter. But I've got some studying to do anyway. I'll be in my dormitory..."

She went upstairs and shut the door, glad for the quiet. She'd been right to show Harry the letters to stop him from worrying too much, but she couldn't help but think about his last insinuation about Ron, or about his lingering doubts. He was her best friend, and under most circumstances she trusted him through and through. This, however, was something just for her. She couldn't wait to check again the next afternoon, to see if he'd written back. And oh! They'd forgotten pen names. Perhaps he could be... oh but he could be Darcy. He'd already admitted to being quiet, brooding, and secretly a dreamer. It would be perfect. But who could she be, then? Could she be Elizabeth? His Elizabeth? She pushed the thought from her mind - it was too soon to tell. She could, however, bring up the Darcy reference and hope he suggested Elizabeth for her...

* * *

Draco had written six drafts of the letter already, and still none of them seemed appropriate. He'd tried discussing school events, but that seemed too common. He tried making small talk, but what use was that? He'd tried coming up with nicknames and fallen completely flat. He'd tried everything in the book - except the very thing he really wanted to do. He wanted to confide in her, to talk to her, to let her in on everything that went through his own head. He couldn't comprehend why - in fact, more than half of the time, his self-conscience was telling him to stop the nonsense before he got in too deep. But for some reason, he always picked up a quill and parchment, and he always began to scratch a line or two onto it and think about sending it. It had been five days. It was now the sixth. It was time for him to write something - anything - that he could give to her, so she wouldn't think he was giving up. He decided to do the hardest thing of all. He was going to tell the truth.

_Jokes at the high table would be excellent, really. I wish things were that uncomplicated - no outside world, no outside pressures. Unfortunately, I'm under more pressure than I've seen in years. It's my parents, of course - my father, really. It's difficult because they've never been especially parental, really, more like supervisors in charge of me. I had a rough childhood, to say the least. I want nothing more than to escape it all. My father wants me to go into a certain line of business that I want no part of. It's not something I enjoy, so why should I do it? The problem is that he'll be the one paying for any university I might attend, and he's the one that would be housing me after Hogwarts. How can I do what I want without risking him kicking me out or disowning me? He's very, very serious about this, and it's farthest from what I honestly want to do. I want to teach. I want to enrich. He wants me to uphold a position full of power and circumstances I don't want. He wants me to be influential and powerful in a company, like he is. I want something small - I just want to be comfortable and enjoy myself. I don't care about the money, really. Not all the money in the world could make me want this job. I want out. But the only way I can do that, is by being totally alone. I have no serious friends to speak of, my own family will only respect me if I do what they want me to do, and the only person I can trust is someone I may never speak to face to face. It's pathetic. I wish I knew you._

He couldn't risk throwing this one into the fire. After scribbling down return instructions, he sealed it shut and ran down to the library _._ This was it, and who cared? He'd found comfort in this unassuming stranger, and while it was unorthodox, it was all he sun came in through every window, alternating sunshine and shade on his shoulders as he passed. It wasn't unlike his own life, really.

* * *

Dinner was finished and Harry and Ron were safely settled in the common room, beginning to finally study for their quiz the next day in Charms. She was only going to the library for a short time, enough to find his letter and reply, then straight to bed. She'd waited until Madame Pince had kicked her out last night, waiting to see if his letter could magically shown up, but it hadn't. It had been six days, what was taking so long? Had he given up? Had she said too much? Out the portrait hole, down the stairs, down a long hallway or two. Inside the doors of the library, she immediately felt a weight coming off her shoulders. If he wrote back, it would be here. It really would. Three rows to the left, seven down. Sixth shelf. She knew the location of the book by heart, she'd checked it so many times in the last week. This time, however, was different. Tucked inside the front cover was what she'd been waiting for all week. It was her letter. She settled into a cubby and poured over it, reading it through enough times to make up for the lack of not hearing from him sooner.

He'd written. _He'd written._ He hadn't given up or stopped or anything. She pulled parchment and quill from her bag and began her reply immediately, not wanting to waste any time or forget the ideas she had fighting for power in her head. He'd stirred something in her again, a great need to express exactly what she was feeling. And tonight, again, she'd let it out.

 _What took you so long? I feared you'd stopped writing me, for a while there. I kept checking though, diligent as ever. Finally, I found you. You've stirred something in me that I can't quite repress. I feel not like I want to talk to you, or like I can, but like I_ have _to, like I must express exactly what's warring on in my head, to you. Do you mind that? You seemed to be comfortable expressing these things to me, so I'll assume not.._

_I wish I had the pressure you do. The only pressure I get comes from myself. I have the exact opposite problem you do - everyone knows I'll be perfectly good at anything I choose to do. My marks are all well, not perfect, and I have an aptitude for nearly anything. I want someone to tell me what to do for once, instead of being my own instructor - "Be a healer!" "Be a lawyer!" "Be a teacher!" But in the end, I just get my pat on the head and a new assignment every week. I despise this. I want a challenge. I want to do something that no one expects. I want out of this mundane routine of helping everyone with anything that requires thinking. They can think for themselves from now on, right? Anyway, that's pretty much what goes on in my life. I want challenge. Something new. This is a little challenge for me - trusting someone I may not even know. This is definitely new to me. Whoever you are, I wish we were better friends. I wish we could confide face to face. Perhaps we'd be the best of mates. Perhaps we could be the answer to everything, knowing all of each others secrets. I find myself quickly becoming jealous of girls with best friends. I have no one like that. My 'best' girl friends are younger, flaky, or strange. I don't understand it at all. I'm almost just waiting for the war to happen, at this point. I'm going to do my part, I'm going to fight. It's my duty, I have to. I want to. What are your feelings on the war? Will you even return for school next year?_

_Also, I've been thinking of pen names, and after your last letter, I'm more than convinced that you should be Mr. Darcy. I'm assuming, since you're familiar with literature to some extent, that you know whom I'm referring to. I'm having a tough time finding someone to relate to myself, for whatever reason. To reply...  
_

This was enough for now. She left a return location of her own, didn't bother with a seal, and stuck it inside the book he'd told her to. She left the library and returned to the common room, where as usual, she'd be helping Ron and Harry study while they barely paid attention and made jokes at her. They were her best friends, but being the only girl in the group - and the only one with a functioning brain - was getting to be a strain.


	5. Chapter 5

He was surprising himself more and more with every letter. How had one girl - one woman - done this to him? Made him question things that he had believed to the core? How had she managed to drive him absolutely mad with nothing but some script on parchment and the light, floral smell her perfume left on the page? On most women, he _hated_ perfume - it was always too strong, in your face. Hers was beautiful - he couldn't describe it. He'd never been in the situation before, but he supposed that if he were to stand in a flower-filled field in the beginning of spring, this is what it would smell like. He fished it out of his bookbag pocket again, sniffing it lightly before putting it back. Merlin, his recent behavior was revolting. Why on earth had he had to reply to that first letter? He could have just let her go...

But this woman was changing things. He realized this as he picked up his quill again and touched it to parchment :

 _It's always lovely hearing from you. Best part of my day, no doubts about it. I suppose, when it comes to my feelings on the war, I just want it to be over. I don't mean it in the pessimistic, make it stop kind of way - I'm just nervous. I just want to know. Who wins? And what happens afterwards? And who dies, and who lives? And why? And how? And most importantly, when? Is it going to be weeks? Months? Or will it take years for us to finally find out? Mostly, I'm scared. I know people on both sides - like having a good number of Slytherin and non-Slytherin friends, I suppose. It's sort of maddening to think of any of them dying because of the other one. I don't like to think about it, but I can't help it. Truth be told though, of_ course _I want He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named gone. He's a horrible man, he's done terrible things... it's just better for everyone._

_Also, you'd have to be absolutely daft - which you are not - to see that you are not unlike Miss Elizabeth Bennett. Witty, headstrong, curious, stable moral grounding, but a little stubborn. Probably secretly rebellious - or not so secretly. You'd have to be crazy to not be Elizabeth.  
_

And there it was - another surprise. He'd just admitted - openly, to another human being - that he wanted Voldemort gone. For good. Dead. He had barely admitted that to himself yet, and here he was telling _her_. Of course, if he hadn't, she might have been able to tell, all too easily, who he was. Perhaps it was mutually beneficial. He realized something else that night - whoever this woman was, he wanted to be more like her - if she, a random stranger, cared more about how he was feeling than his own parents? That had to mean something. If she, always so bloody _good,_ was so kind to him? What if he could be... kind? To people? Without having ulterior motives? Well, alright, he wasn't sure he could drop his ulterior motives completely... but being kind was a start.

* * *

_You've got to be joking, about the Elizabeth part. I mean, perhaps I have a few traits and characteristics in common with her, but she's so beautiful, and charming, and I can't even imagine being compared. It's the best part of my day, hearing from you. I like that - we're both... happy, about this at least. It's a wonderful distraction from the war, from the fear. I know where I stand, I've fought my battles, I want the Dark Lord gone for good. Finished. Finite. I don't think it'll be that long - personally, I see it coming within a year or two. It can't be long, really. He's not going to wait around forever. He knows what he's after, and he knows he wants to take over while he has the chance. He'll move soon._

_I had a dream last night that I met you - you had no distinguishable features in the dream, but I knew it was you. We were here, at Hogwarts, but at least a few years older - perhaps even up to thirty years old. We were professors, and we were just... writing letters. Still. I knew who you were and you knew who I was, but we wrote letters anyway, all the time.I liked it - I'd love to just be able to stay at Hogwarts, to relive this feeling when I get your letters. It's unreal - so much different than my day to day life.  
_

There was one point of the war she wanted to clear up. She flicked her wand, moved the last paragraph a little farther down the page, and added this to the end of the first:

_I mean, given my blood status I would be safe either way. I'm a pureblood - not that it matters to me, really. I've always found blood elitism to be a huge joke. Dirty blood? Is anyone actually serious about this?_

She continued on the second paragraph again.

_What if we really could do it? Just remain here, professors, and know who each other was? I think I'd like that. A lot._

She signed it Elizabeth, wrote reply instructions, and tucked it into her bag. She had no idea why she'd told the person she was a pureblood - perhaps, given her wording, it made her the most available - she was pureblood, which made her look good to elitists, but she said she didn't care, which made her look good to everyone else. She wrote it off as just trying to find out more about the mystery man and _nox_ 'd out the light from her wand. Writing this one letter had made her very tired, and she had a class quite early the next morning...

However, she slept fitfully. The dream returned - a tall, easy-walking stranger who walked in step beside her, talking about their letters or their students in a voice she couldn't hear or understand, but she knew what he was saying anyway. He wasn't identifiable in any way - except that he was the man she'd been writing to, and in these dreams, they were definitely - she'd blush when she thought about it in the morning - together.

* * *

It was the Malfoy Charm. It was practically trademarked. Girls always told him exactly what they thought he wanted to hear, when they spoke to him. His family's sympathies towards the Dark Lord. Inquiries on the latest plan. They told him how good he looked, how smart and funny he was, how much they'd want to... well, the answers differed, in that case. But practically no matter the girl, he could charm her, mold her into his perfect little plaything. Father always said, though, to not spill blood where you ate - quite literally, in his fathers case, but metaphorically, he supposed it meant that he couldn't very well associate with the girls he was toying with just for laughs. _A don't-shit-where-you-eat deal. I get it._ But this woman... she was different.

It couldn't be the Malfoy charm, because she didn't know that he was Draco Malfoy. It had to be something else, then - throughout their conversations, she'd actually gotten to know the real Draco. And he had, inadvertently, been exactly what she wanted. Witty, deep, smart, etc. The best part of each others days - he'd never said anything like that to a girl before.

This was - Draco was afraid to admit it - real. She really thought these things about him. And he, in return, had really thought such good things about her. He was actually beginning to _fancy_ her, and he didn't even _know_ who she was! He knew _her_ , of course - he felt like he knew her explicitly, every detail - but her identity remained a mystery. How could he feel this way - how could he be so attracted to someone he may have never looked at twice? What if she was hideous? Obviously she was an amazing person on the inside - so much so that Draco, lost behind letters, was shocked to find that he almost didn't care what she looked like. She wasn't a troll - most of them had inferiority complexes like he couldn't believe - so she had to at least be mildly attractive. Plus, the way she worded things, the way she thought, it was like... a breath of fresh air. It was like nothing he'd ever encountered before. He really, genuinely liked this girl.

And she, apparently, really genuinely liked him. She wouldn't keep writing back if she didn't. She liked hearing from him, she liked talking to and interacting with him - who else could he have said that about, a few weeks ago? Nobody, really. Crabbe and Goyle barely counted, and Pansy only ever wanted to talk about herself or try and flatter him, which was irritating as all hell. This letter woman - this _Elizabeth_ \- was actually interested in him. This was new.

 _Shit._ He thought. _I'm in trouble._


	6. Chapter 6

How could he start the letter, and how long should it be? Weeks ago, questions like this wouldn't have crossed his mind. Anyone attempting to correspond with him would get a reply containing whatever he was obliged to write, whenever he felt obliged to write it - essentially, they'd get nothing. This was the only time he'd ever been concerned with something so trivial as a letter. But were these letters so trivial?

_I'd never considered teaching, before. I suppose it would be nice._

The truth of the matter was that he'd never before imagined his future after this war - he didn't know when it was or what would happen, so he had no idea if he'd even live past seventeen.

_Also, the idea of finding out who you are is intriguing. I keep trying to imagine who you might be, but as in your dream, I always imagine you featureless. I don't even know the colour of your hair, though to know that much would either knock out most of the female population at Hogwarts, or leave you with the bigger majority... so again, not knowing might be good. Although, there would be a few benefits to knowing who you actually are - with the Hogsmeade trip coming up, I might actually be tempted to walk down for the day and spend time outside of my dormitory. Hogsmeade was boring the last time I went, my friends aren't particularly sharp and it was nearly like going in myself. The shops and things might be decent if I weren't walking around by myself, but I usually am - I haven't gone since the beginning of last year. I probably won't go again this year - or, perhaps I will, and attempt to find you..._

_We could actually meet and talk. I've thought about it a few times, of course. You are probably one of a very, very small number of people that I don't mind talking to lately. This year sucks._

What he was unwilling to admit, just yet, was that she was the _only_ person he didn't mind talking to. Outside of these letters, all other conversation felt terribly boring and flat - something that probably should have bothered him about his friends.

_I think it's funny that we happened on this by near chance, and yet something more has grown out of it. I confess, I think about you often. I think that if I really knew you, not just on letters - that I could really fancy you. I might anyway. Blood status doesn't really matter to me either, and you're the first woman I've met in a long period of time that hasn't either bored me to death or tried to get something out of me. It's sad, really. You really are like Elizabeth in that way - shamelessly independent, witty, and wonderful in her own way. I look forward to your next letter. -Darcy_

As always, he penned in return instructions and sealed the parchment with a bit of wax. In the most recent letters, he'd switched off from his usual seal - a sort of coat of arms, if you will - and switched to a plain piece of wood, so as to not be distinguished as his seal or not. He stood, tucking the letter into the book she'd suggested, and left the library. It was only hours later, sitting in the comfort of his sealed-off four poster, that Draco realized that she was sort of the first girl he'd ever admitted to liking before she'd even said similar things about him first. And that he'd admitted that blood status meant nothing to him. What was going _on_? Things were getting more and more desperate by the week.

* * *

She picked up his letter just before bed, tucking it into her bag so that she could read it by the fire before she went to sleep. He'd replied quite quickly, as she'd expected. They'd only exchanged a few letters so far, but already she felt like she knew him very well - and could track his writing habits. He was usually punctual, which she liked, and well-written, which she liked even more. She hadn't seen letters written with this kind of feeling outside of romance novels, and now she felt she was very near to living out a romance of her own. He was intelligent, and... oh, she didn't even know him, but that didn't matter yet. If and when serious feelings developed, they would have to meet - she was sure of it.

Settling into her favorite comfortable chair by the roaring fire was easy. Not attracting the attention of Harry and Ron, by contrast, was _impossible_. They were sitting just a few meters away, and she heard her name called less than thirty seconds after sitting. She _just_ wanted to read the _letter!_

"'Mione! There you are. You disappeared after dinner..."

"I had something to pick up from the library." Not entirely a lie. "For homework." Well, alright, that wasn't a complete lie either. She had picked up an unassigned text for Runes to help her decipher something, but only after she'd picked up the letter and spotted it hanging off a shelf. It was a decent excuse - they'd believe it, anyway.

"Oh. Well, usually you'd just stay in there all night."

"I'm feeling rather tired. I thought I might read a letter really quick and then head upstairs for much-needed rest..."

Harry, who hadn't spoken until that point, raised his head. He'd caught the one word she was wishing she hadn't even said. "Letter?"

"Yes, Harry. Post."

"This isn't the same..."

She hesitated half a second too long, which was all he needed. "Yes, but..."

'I stood by it at first, but over a month later? Come on, Hermione... this is getting a little weird. A few notes in books is all in good fun, but... what do you even talk about, with this person?"

"It's a _him_ , actually. A... boy."

"Oh, good grief." Ron rolled his eyes. The fire Hermione felt raging behind her cheeks could have set the whole room aflame.

"Excuse me, Ronald?"

"It's just some boy. We know what males want. It's part of what makes us... tick, I think."

"That's _not_ what this is about, Ron. Not that you care to have intelligent conversation at all, I find it rather stimulating that we're doing it through letters..."

" _Stimulating..._ right. _Doing it_ through letters."

"You're revolting! Harry, a little help please?"

She turned to Harry to see the last of a grin fading from his face. "S-... Sorry. He does kind of have a point. We do think about it... a lot."

"For both of your information, we're not even meeting face to face."

"You're not? What's the bloody point, then? Who is this bloke?"

"They're anonymous. We know we're in the same year, I'm female and he's male, and that's all we need to know. We've admitted that while we're getting along so well, it's best to not know the other one's identity. That was _my suggestion,_ actually. He wants to meet me, but... it's better this way. It's nice."

Ron rolled his eyes and swiveled back around to his chess set, thinking a little too hard about his next move. It was very clear to everyone in the general vicinity that he was trying very, _very_ hard to look like he wasn't listening to the remaining conversation, while he actually was.

"Harry, it's just for fun. There's nothing... serious about it. Just a little confidante. We're both very careful to write letters that are vague about certain things... so we can't guess who the other person is."

"And you're sure about this?"

"Almost one hundred percent."

"That's about as sure as you can be I guess, with something like this. Is he... nice, at least?"

"Wonderfully so. He's very supportive, we can just talk about anything, I think."

"How many of these letters have you written?"

"Only five? Six? Seven? I'm losing track. A few. They were pretty spaced out in the beginning, when we weren't sure if we were writing to an actual person or like if he'd found my letter from years ago... they're coming more steady now."

"It's just... talking?"

"Yes!"

"And you haven't said anything, anything at all, about either of us?" He jerked his thumb back towards Ron, who still pretended to be musing over the position of his Knight. Hermione nodded.

"Not a word. I've been careful. I've even lied about a thing or two, to really throw them off."

"Probably a good idea."

"Hmm."

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"I'm happy that you're... happy with this. Just be careful?"

"I will!"

"Promise me."

She could see the hint of fear in his eyes. Though she was a little apprehensive about the whole thing still, she smiled. "I promise. Nothing bad is going to happen."

"If it does..."

"You get the same thing as Ron. You can all call me an idiot until the day we graduate, if you wish."

* * *

His letter filled her subconscious. Every time something even vaguely related to something he'd said, the entirety of the text would jump into her head - the part about her being a lot like Elizabeth, blood status not mattering, about meeting in Hogsmeade... she wished they could, of course, and their anonymity was both good and bad for them, on that point. She'd probably spend the day in Hogsmeade with Harry and Ron - sipping butterbeers, relaxing, maybe getting some sweets.

"Miss Granger?"

"Hmm? Sorry professor, I was just..."

She'd lost track of the lesson in Charms. For the second time that day. She'd reply by nightfall, she had to. The Hogsmeade trip was tomorrow, and if he didn't go, he might find her letter by then. What if she could come back to one waiting for her? It'd be marvelous, really...


	7. Chapter 7

_Dearest Elizabeth..._

His latest letter had been full of secrets that girls would have loved to hear from, well, _anyone._ Bits about him being afraid, about his fears for the war and his family. He confessed that he acted brave on the outside, as he thought most of them did, and that he had a feeling she was acting stronger than she felt as well. At this, it might have seemed obvious - nearly everyone was trying to do so. But when he admitted that he thought she also started the letters to escape from something, he knew she would begrudgingly have to confirm that fact in the next letter. It was one hundred percent true - but then, obviously, he was doing the same thing as well. He definitely couldn't blame her.

He'd signed it Mr. Darcy - nearly two full pages of it - and tucked it into the specified volume. She'd likely pour more out to him - and he wanted it. He craved it. He was beyond just caring, whoever this mystery woman was had completely stolen his thoughts. It was only October. They'd only been in school a little over a month and a half. And this... this woman, this persona, had absolutely ensnared him. Who was she, and why did she care? Why did her letters always smell spicy and sweet, like gingerbread or cinnamon or sweets?

Upon setting the book down, he took a moment to walk the aisles. The library was mostly empty - most students were just returning from Hogsmeade, their coats wet with melted snow, cheeks rosy from the cold. Their smiles sent a pang through his chest - he'd never had a cheerful visit to Hogsmeade - his only cheer had previously come from antagonizing other students in the little town, and causing trouble wherever he went. How could he have been so daft and immature? His mystery woman... his _Elizabeth..._ she wouldn't like that at all. He could tell that much _._ Perhaps, if he knew who she was, they could take a stroll through snowy Hogsmeade, walk arm in arm, drink hot chocolate and... he couldn't even picture himself doing those things. He'd never done them before, and didn't know what it felt like, but suddenly - it was all he'd ever wanted. With her.

 _Yours, Draco._ Yes, he was hers alright. With the letter tucked safely away, Draco took a few moments more to roam the aisles, looking perhaps for something to read. His peace, however, was ruined by a shorter girl and her mane of wavy brown hair. Yes, the frizz had gone away, but that didn't mean that her massive curls didn't fling into his face and cause him to sputter and gasp.

"Granger!"

"Sorry, Malfoy, I just... in a hurry."

"What, for another book?"

"Sort of. One in particular... not my usual reading, either." She huffed, turning the corner to leave. Only once she was completely out of sight did Draco realize she'd dropped something on the floor when they'd collided. It was a brand new bit of pearled black wax, no bigger than his thumb. She'd dropped her sealing wax, and Draco only knew how hard it was to come by once in the castle walls - Hogsmeade was their only option. He'd find some way to return it to her - even if she was the enemy, and an insufferable know it all at that, every insufferable person sometimes needed their sealing wax.

* * *

_My Darcy,_

_I'm sure you heard about what happened in Hogsmeade, even if you didn't end up going. It's dreadful, really. Katie was cursed pretty badly - she's in the Hospital Wing now, she may be transferred to St. Mungo's. Whatever was on that necklace nearly killed her. Does the culprit really think that Dumbledore is that daft? He'd never touch something like that without knowing everything about it. That much is clear. I just think that whoever it was, didn't think their plan through very thoroughly. This was planned by an amateur, someone who has never killed and perhaps did not intend to cause harm, but only to warn... I'm extremely worried about Katie, as the rest of us are, but I have hopes she'll recover fully. I fear my friends won't shut up about losing quidditch matches if she doesn't._

_On the other hand, they won't shut up about anything else, anyway. Curiosity doesn't even begin to describe it. They ask so many questions about our letters and why I still write and if I think it's safe... I can't really put into words the way that this works. We know this, they don't. And for some unknown reason, beyond reasonable doubt, I trust you - even when I probably shouldn't. I don't even know who you are or who you could be - you could be just as terrible of a person as they're warning me about. But you seem different, and I'm going to trust my own judgement on this one - I genuinely like you, and I look forward to your letters every day.  
_

_There's a girl with a major crush on my best friend - she really fancies him. It's getting annoying, and a bit... creepy, really. I just want her to go away - not that I'm jealous, of course, just that I'm worried. She's gone to an extreme or two already, and can't take a hint that he's not really interested. Girls, I suppose, will do strange things for a man they have feelings for._

Her return instructions were penned in at the bottom, and she folded her letter neatly in thirds, flap on the outside. Upon reaching into her bag pocket, however, she found her matchbook, but no stick of wax.

"Oh, please don't tell me I've dropped it, I can't find the rest of the box and I only have leftover bits of last year's wax..."

She never found her pearl black wax, and instead opted on collecting broken bits of an emerald green stick from the bottom of her trunk, melting them together carefully over her letter and pressing her seal into it. It would have to do for now.

* * *

He hadn't seen her in three days. He'd been feeling ill since their run-in at the Library, and hadn't had time to return her wax. It was a game he knew he'd lose - even doing something nice for Granger wouldn't give him good points - but he knew he'd want his wax back if he'd dropped it. He finally ran into her on the way down into the Potions dungeons early for class, tapping on her shoulder only once and clearing his throat. As she whipped around, her hair moved softly about her shoulders, and he smelled something he thought to be mildly familiar - a sort of flowery, honeysuckle scent.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

Her tone was sharp - sharper than he was used to. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes blazed at him, a predator ready to make the move and kill it's prey.

"I was only returning something you dropped. You know, when you ran around the corner and smack into me in the library." He pulled the stick of wax from his pocket, offering it to her. When she snatched for it, he held back momentarily.

"What were you in such a hurry for, anyway? Isn't the library your second home? Muggle parents couldn't provide any books for you?"

"For you information, Malfoy, I was simply... not supposed to... be there at the time that I was. The reason why is none of your business." She grabbed the wax stick from his hand, pocketed it, and whipped back around, reaching the bottom of the staircase before he could fully recognize again that familiar honeysuckle scent.

The only thing that kept him awake during Potions was the fact that he was headed to the Library after class to retrieve a letter. He hadn't had time, between being sick and whatnot, and had thought of nothing else in the days previous. When he finally reached that haven, found the tome, and tucked the letter safely into his bookbag, he felt better than he had in years.

_My Darcy..._

* * *

She'd waited terribly too long without a letter. It had been four days since the last, and she'd been checking on him regularly - seeing if he'd picked up the letter. It had taken him three days of... whatever, and her three days of worrying that he'd forgotten about her entirely, before the letter was finally absent from the volume. And then there was the issue of waiting for a reply - once she knew he had it, the worst part was here. Was he reading it now? Or thinking about it? Her? Was he writing his reply at that moment in time? Or would he not write it yet for another day? Two days?

Agony. Pure, unadulterated, agony. And there was nothing she could do to stop it. When the letter finally came, less than a day and a half later, she'd remember it as the biggest moment of relief in seventeen years.

_Elizabeth_

_Forgive me for breaking the quickness - illness and a ton of classwork prevented me from writing sooner. It's been a rough week, more than you or anyone else knows. I had a huge responsibility that I let fall, and I'll suffer the consequences some time shortly, I fear. Everything happens like that, though. It's all part of the choices you make. I heard about Katie Bell - I didn't end up going to Hogsmeade, as expected. I'm sad to hear that she's not doing well, she's never been mean to anyone, as far as I've seen. Things like that shouldn't happen to people like Katie. She was probably just minding her own business. Makes me wish I honestly could have done something to stop it._

_I apologize for such a short letter after such a long time, but I fear those responsibilities and their consequences will catch up to me sooner than planned. I look forward to your reply, more than you know._

_Yours, Darcy._

It was short, but it was all she'd wanted. It would do, for now.

* * *

"You're an imbecile. If Potter had been more serious in accusing you of delivering the cursed necklace, the entire operation would have been blown... your family hunted down... I'd have been found out. You can't be so stupid, Draco. Your father and the Dark Lord have put a lot of faith in us both."

"I'm sorry, Severus... I can't..."

"You've been acting a fool since term began. The responsibility to take down Albus Dumbledore lies on your shoulders, not mine. You were chosen for the job and you must prove yourself worthy. Time is ticking."

The deserted, nearly pitch black corridor seemed to drip something silently from every object - fear. Severus Snape had cornered Draco on his way down to the dungeons after dropping off his letter, pulling him into a deserted hallway and berating him. He had been given the task of delivering the cursed necklace. He had been given the task to murder Albus Dumbledore. And he was failing miserably.

"If I had not been in Hogsmeade to take control of the situation, Draco, everything could have gone wrong."

"The Imperius was supposed to work better on Rosemerta. I can't help that."

"You can, Draco! You have to mean it! It's an Unforgivable!" His voice had risen over an acceptable level for the conversation, and Snape seemed to know this, drawing his cloak closer around himself. "Follow me. You have a visitor. He's been allowed inside the castle for five minutes only."

Without having to say it verbally, Draco knew that the visitor was his father, and immediately tensed. His father was his biggest supporter, and biggest antagonist. Draco believed that Lucius knew, even now, that his son was incapable of fulfilling his duties. When the door to an empty classroom was opened, and student and Professor entered, Lucius was soon visible from behind a stack of chairs in the corner.

"Draco. Severus has informed me of your failure."

"I'm sorry father, I..."

"No. This is not something you can apologize for, Draco! The Dark Lord has entrusted this unique responsibility to you and you alone. If you do not succeed, you will not be the only one to suffer the consequences. He'll kill myself and your mother as well. Do you want that?"

"Of course not! Father, I'm just not cut out for this!"

 _"Do not doubt the will of the Dark Lord, Draco!_ To do so is to make a grave error. A potentially fatal one. You cannot fail me now, son." Lucius roughly grabbed the collar of Draco's robes, shaking him slightly. "If you seem close to it, I'll kill you and finish the job myself."

Draco's blood felt like ice water in his veins. Lucius had been harsh before, even cruel, but he'd never threatened death on his son. Draco nodded, now paler in the face than usual, and stepped back.

"I see you understand the severity now. Immediately head to the dungeons and begin working on what we discussed previously - a way for everyone to get in. We don't have much time, Draco, it needs to happen as soon as humanly possible."

Draco nodded again, swallowing the bile that had risen in his throat. Terror didn't begin to describe what he felt. Severus grabbed him by the collar as his father had, and steered him out into the corridor, shoving him in the direction of the dungeons.

"I have further matters to discuss with your father. You're lucky I didn't tell him that Potter already suspects you. Get to the dungeons immediately and do as your father told you. There's no time to lose."

Beginning at a jog, Draco found himself breathless by the time he had finally shut the door to his dormitory behind him. His roommates seemed to think nothing of it, allowing him to cross the room uninterrupted and seal himself into his four-poster, putting up a silencing charm and hyperventilating slightly before pulling a crumpled piece of parchment from his bag - her last letter. It was all he had to hold onto, until he could pick up the next.

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

_I thought you'd forgotten about me._

He'd taken nearly a week to respond, this time, and when he finally did, it was rushed. He seemed nervous about something, his sentences were clipped and short, and his topics got a little less personal, a little less comfortable. Well, if he wanted to play hard to get, she could play too.

_To be honest, I nearly forgot for a while as well. With the second month of term coming to a close in just a few days, I feel like school is back into that same routine, only... something about this year still feels different. Not as good as usual. I'm trying to put it behind me. Perhaps I'm just tired... I am. Exhausted, really. Sorry for such a short note, but I've got work to do, I'll wait for your next letter._

_Elizabeth_

She tucked it away where requested and went back up to bed feeling disappointed in herself. Here was this guy, who really could fancy her, and she's playing petty games with him... it was pathetic, really. Once safely back inside the common room, she caught the eye of Harry, who only waved and smiled. He didn't try and notify Ron, who had his back to her, and was telling some really complicated story about something that had happened in that day's quidditch practice. It wasn't something she'd have liked to sit through anyway, so she slipped up the stairs and into her dormitory, ignoring the other girls whispers and sealing herself into her four poster. In moments, she wad drowsy, having spent a good amount of time that afternoon studying for a small practical exam in Charms that week. She had to make sure her marks were really excellent this year, so that she'd definitely get into all of the good NEWT classes. She couldn't take any risks. She wondered if her pen pal friend was a NEWT sort of student or not. He was clearly intelligent, but that didn't always translate to book smarts, and...

Thinking of her faceless stranger, Hermione drifted off to sleep, dreaming of parchment, ink, and the library.

* * *

_How could I forget about you, Elizabeth? No, I confess - I too have been busy, studying and practicing things, neither of which I can put off. There's much to do, much to learn, you know... I would hope you'd have faith enough in me to trust that. I apologize, I'm writing a short note as well - just know you're in my thoughts, and if you ever need to vent or talk, I'm always here to talk. Er, read. You is the only good thing I have going for me right now.  
_

She laughed. It had only taken him less than a day to respond this time, and she was glad. _How could I forget about you?_ Oh, if only she could hear that from the right people...

Ron, however, still seemed pretty oblivious to the fact that she wasn't terribly happy with him. It wasn't something that she could really put into words, either... she supposed that it was her terrible, constant, tiny crush on him. And the fact that he was flirting right back with Lavender, who was not only the daftest, most immeasurably thick idiot on the planet, but was also Hermione's dorm mate. And honestly, who better to talk to than to someone who didn't know what she was talking about?

_Darcy,_

_You see, I have something to confess. (That's a joke.) I've had feelings for one of my good friends for a really long time, and it's always seemed like he has feelings for me as well. Everyone has said they could see us together, and though at times I loathe that fact, I've always liked being able to call him mine. Unfortunately, it was never official, and now that we're back at school, he's flirting with this girl that I honestly can't stand - that same girl, of course, is in my dormitory, just two beds over from mine. She talks about him constantly, about them together, and she knows that we had something going on,and I know that in all fairness, he wasn't my boyfriend or anything, but... it upsets me still. It makes me feel like he's just throwing away what we possibly might have had together over some semi-pretty girl with more of a sense of humor - though it's a terrible one. Also, she's about as intelligent as most flobberworms, so I don't weigh much on them having much to talk about. He's actually kind of smart, as well. I guess this is our next topic - what do you think of all this? Am I worrying over nothing? Should I go for him? Should I stay where I am?_

_Elizabeth_

* * *

It took him less than twelve hours to reply.

 _Lizzy_ ,

_What kind of idiot is this guy? The typical idiot? The kind that's full of himself? The kind that is really, truly oblivious, all the time? If he's not a complete arse, then he's a complete idiot - and I don't take you for the type of girl to fall for a complete arse or idiot. Honestly, here's my opinion on the whole thing - as hard as it may be, dump the loser and find someone else - someone who makes you happy. Perhaps a somewhat stranger? Someone you might write to, or something? (That was not really a joke. At all.) Honestly, I don't even know what you look like, or your personality outside of your writing, but I can definitely say that I feel some sort of attraction to you, to say the least. You could probably look like a female mountain troll (they don't really look any different from the males) and I'd still have this pull towards you. Perhaps it is your mind that I love most - that's it. A girl with a good mind is something I've been searching after for years._

_He's the one losing someone, here. Someone as beautiful as you. Ditch him and run off with me? (That was sort of a joke. Only if you're against the idea.)_

_Darcy_

Had he just flirted with a girl via parchment? It was pathetic. And yet... he'd said it before - to himself and to her - there was something different about her, something he couldn't quite tear his mind off of. He was feeling particularly happy about this latest letter, dropped it off, and on his way out of the Library, he ran into - who else? Granger. She always seemed to be darting in and out, looking through books, reading... things.

"Hermione."

"You... you just called me by my first name. Not Granger, not Mudblood?"

It was, perhaps, a little out of character. "I did. I'm in a good mood today. Please don't ruin it by opposing."

He took it as a good omen that she did not oppose him further - she simply greeted him by his first name as well, and then darted into the library at full speed. This girl even had him being kind to Granger - perhaps that was a little _too_ far.

* * *

Draco Malfoy had been polite to her - calling her by her first name, even. Not Mudblood, not even Granger. Just... Hermione. That sort of occurrence, of course, messed up the entire rest of her day.

Firstly, she couldn't stop thinking about Draco's courtesy. 'I did.' Like he wasn't surprised in the least at being nice to her.

Second, she'd pulled a letter from a book this morning, and it was currently sitting in her bookbag, unopened, unread. She'd gone in just after breakfast, just to see if he'd responded as quickly as he'd been doing lately - he had. It was practically burning a hole in her bag, and she still had forty minutes until she was let out of Transfiguration and could use her free period to go to the library, study, and read that letter. And probably reply, as well.

The minutes seemed to drag on, taking entirely too long. A minute seemed to be an hour, ten minutes felt to be a year. When at last she'd been dismissed, Hermione bolted from the room before anyone could catch up to her. The letter was in her hand as she stepped into the library, and was already open by the time she sat down at her favorite little desk in the corner.

 _Lizzy_ ,

_What kind of idiot is this guy? The typical idiot? The kind that's full of himself? The kind that is really, truly oblivious, all the time? If he's not a complete arse, then he's a complete idiot - and I don't take you for the type of girl to fall for a complete arse or idiot. Honestly, here's my opinion on the whole thing - as hard as it may be, dump the loser and find someone else - someone who makes you happy. Perhaps a somewhat stranger? Someone you might write to, or something? (That was not really a joke. At all.) Honestly, I don't even know what you look like, or your personality outside of your writing, but I can definitely say that I feel some sort of attraction to you, to say the least. You could probably look like a female mountain troll (they don't really look any different from the males) and I'd still have this pull towards you. Perhaps it is your mind that I love most - that's it. A girl with a good mind is something I've been searching after for years._

_He's the one losing someone, here. Someone as beautiful as you. Ditch him and run off with me? (That was sort of a joke. Only if you're against the idea.)_

_Darcy_

How did he manage to be so kind without being... creepy? Viktor had attempted to say things like this to her in her fourth year, and all it had done was made her feel immensely uncomfortable at times. This letter writing person, this man, had managed to make her feel appreciated - without even really knowing her - without feeling like he was up to something, at all. Who was he? Why had she never met him before? And that thing about 'you could probably look like a mountain troll... I'd still have this pull towards you'. So he wasn't a daft, shallow boy? He was a charming, intelligent, _man._ That was enough to drive her wild as it was. But his way with words was unlike anything she'd ever seen.

_D_

_I understand what you're saying about feeling a pull - I feel that for you, as well. I'm terrified to admit that, naturally, with the thing going on with my friend - it feels like guys usually just skim right over me, don't look my way at all, good or bad. I feel completely, utterly, average, in that aspect. Except when I hear from you. When I get your letters, when I hear these things from you... I feel extraordinary. I feel better than anyone around me. I feel new, and wonderful._

_Tomorrow's Halloween feast is bittersweet - I'm excited for the big fall feast with all of my friends, laughing and eating and having good times - but I am, of course, going to wish that you were right there with me. I wish I knew who you were. Despite apprehension, I admit that with one or two exceptions, you could be any guy in our year, and I'd be happy to know it was you - just to know who you are. Trips to Hogsmeade, sitting in the library together, perhaps sitting at meals together, watching Quidditch matches together. The snow outside is beautiful, but it would be better if I had someone to enjoy it with. I'm sure you feel similarly. I just find it unreal that you're able to be as you are, so kind and complimentary, without at all seeming strange or like a creep at all. I like it, I enjoy your kind words and attitude. Too many males aren't like that these days._

_I may not be able to write tomorrow, I've spent my free period this afternoon writing to you and have a lot of work to catch up on. Enjoy the Halloween feast for me, eat a few sweets for me._

_E_

She tucked the letter into the book specified and stuck around in the library for a moment or two longer. The snow outside was really lovely, she did wish she had someone to enjoy it with. If she knew who this mystery man was, they could be sitting together at that moment, chatting about whatever subject they pleased, watching the snow fall outside and sitting close together. They could take walks around the grounds, and...

But she didn't know who he was. Not at all. She couldn't have any of that. Perhaps, though, keeping their secret wasn't such a great idea. Even if they ended up being total opposites... what they shared was wonderful. She made a decision then - if she didn't find out who he was by the time the snow started melting in Spring, she'd have to find out somehow. She could spy on a book he was supposed to reply in, something. She'd find a way. However... perhaps there was a way to try and find out before he let on too much - before she had to wait.

Hermione grabbed a bit of parchment and a quill - further putting off her studies - and began to write a list of every male in her year at Hogwarts. She started with the Gryffindors, then Ravenclaws, then Hufflepuff, finally laughing a little as she wrote down the names of the males in Slytherin. The complete list wasn't more than forty or so males, and she knew a way to cross off a number of them immediately.

First to go were Harry, Ron, Neville, and Seamus. Dean was the only one intelligent and well-spoken enough out of the group, and she hadn't spoken with him recently, so it could perhaps be him. Second to be crossed off was anyone who simply wasn't intelligent enough to be writing these letters. Half of the hufflepuffs, a good number of Slytherins, and even a Ravenclaw or two were done. That was roughly fifteen gone. The list was down to twenty-five. One of these twenty-five men was writing her these letters. And eventually, she'd find out just who it was.


	9. Chapter 9

_You're talking about sweets... ha! You're the sweet one. Not a mountain or a whole cart of candies and pies could keep me as happy and content as these letters. Seeing the edge of a bit of parchment sticking out of a book is like seeing the sun come through the clouds for the first time after an especially cold winter. It's refreshing. It's a relief._

_To be perfectly honest, I'm usually not the romantic type - I'd even go as far as saying that I haven't ever really felt an emotional pull towards anyone before... nobody has ever caught my interest like this. It seems there are three basic things a man wants in a woman, and no woman I've met so far has met all three. A man wants his woman to be available, intelligent, and attractive - pick two. They're either attractive and available and completely daft, or some other combination of the three... it's mind-boggling. You, however, I have hopes for - though I've never seen your face, or at least I can't identify which one it is, I have a feeling you're not one of the three people in our class that I find terribly unattractive, so your odds are good, is all I'm saying. You're intelligent and single, which would make you the only girl I've ever met to fit all three._

_The first Quidditch match is tonight, I wonder which team you'll be rooting for... that would probably give me too good of an idea of who you are. Until next time,_

_D_

He put the letter in the book she'd requested and hurried down into the dungeons to ready himself for the match. He was feeling too good, lately. It had to be a sign that they'd win the match. It had to mean Slytherin would win. Somehow, she'd instilled this powerful feeling of positivity in him. He was proud of himself, of things he did for good. He constantly wondered, when doing or saying things, if she'd be happy with what he was doing. She seemed so bloody _good_ that often, he found himself acting much differently than he had in the past. It was worth noting, of course, that he'd been acting in a way that would please all of the wrong people, until he'd met her. She'd changed something in him, already. And he couldn't decide if he liked it or if he was absolutely terrified.

* * *

_"And he's done it! Harry Potter has caught the Snitch, earning one hundred and fifty points for Gryffindor, winning them the match!"_

The roar of the crowd in Red and Gold did nothing to help Draco's spirits. If he'd have been just a touch faster, just a bit less distracted, he'd have clearly seen the snitch where Potter had - halfway down the field on the left, flitting around just twenty meters above ground. Stupid, stupid Draco. A teammate of his looked his way and shrugged, but he was clearly irritated. The first match, the one against Gryffindor - and he'd mucked it up already. He angled his broom down at the ground and bolted for the changing rooms, getting out of his uniform and stalking back towards the castle. He'd had to get this out somehow. He wanted to update the letter, vaguely. And so he did - he included a short bit about the game being a bit boring, and left it there. For some reason, just knowing she'd know he wasn't happy, made him feel better. It was nearly a given fact that she'd try to make him feel better - and she'd probably succeed. He glanced at the clock - just after two in the afternoon - and stuck the letter back where it belonged. He was back in his dormitory in a flash, and he'd never been happier to know how to seal off his four poster from the rest of the world.

Hearing from her would make it all better. Even if it was the most boring, flat letter they'd written so far, he'd be happy to see her loopy, feminine scrawl, the way she dragged out the tails of her cursive letters at the ends of words. It was like she was whispering to him, over these letters. Through parchment, she was telling him everything had never known he wanted and needed to hear.

* * *

Had anything else ever hurt this badly? Was this was heartbreak was like? Is _this_ why girls got so weepy when the man they thought they loved, screwed everything up so royally?

No. Yes. Merlin, Yes. It felt like everything in her was being beat down, stuffed into a corner - all of the cheer from Gryffindor winning the match was gone. She'd been so happy to watch Ron play so well, blocking nearly every shot with confidence. The hours after the game had flown by, with he and Harry by her side, she finally felt as if this year at Hogwarts were going back to somewhat normal. This was what she loved about the school year, more than anything else - celebrating with house mates, with best friends, with that silly ginger hair and that stupid grin.

Somehow, though, celebration and happiness isn't nearly as fun when Ron directs his at Lavender, wrapping his arms around her like she was the answer to every stupid problem he'd ever had. They were practically sucking each others faces off. It was revolting, it was..

She couldn't handle it anymore. She turned and ran from the room, barely noticing when Harry turned on his heels and ran after her. He walked into the abandoned classroom just moments after she did, with a look of half apprehension, half pity. She hated seeing him like this - pitying her. She was usually the strong one. She rarely lost her cool, she rarely let anything affect her like this. Seeing Harry realize this was heartbreaking in and of itself. She shook her head as he stepped in through the door she'd just used.

"'Mione?"

"How does it feel, Harry? When you see Dean with Ginny?"

"Oh, uhm..."

"I know. I've seen the way you look at her. You're my best friend."

In the next moments, when Ron bursts in with his stupid new girlfriend, Hermione can think of only one thing - that the perfect, tweeting golden birds above her head have immensely, perfectly sharp beaks.

 _"Oppugno."_ Ron and Lavender run from the room, and Hermione felt herself collapse next to Harry, who put an arm around her and sighed.

"It feels like this."

She nodded, understanding completely that Harry felt very similar to how she felt. There was, however, something that Hermione had that Harry didn't - someone she could absolutely talk to about this. There could be a letter, by now. There probably was one. She'd been so wrapped up in the celebrations with Ron and Harry after the match, that she'd nearly forgotten to check. She thanked Harry for watching out for her, but excused herself to go to the library. He'd understand, in some vague way, that she was going to find a letter or write one. And he wouldn't blame her, not one bit. As much as he didn't trust this pen pal of hers fully, he did understand that when something cheered you up after something like what Hermione had just been through... you didn't let it go.

* * *

_He's an idiot, I'm convinced. You were right. He's daft and selfish and mean._

Oh, something had happened then. And she didn't seem to pleased about it. It was only nine, there were still two hours before tonight's extended curfew, so that students could celebrate or complain, accordingly. Draco had been silent, figuring he'd only leave the dungeons to check for a letter. There was still time before curfew... maybe he'd stick around long enough to reply. Sure enough, one had been there.

_Your disappointment over the lack of action in the game is nothing compared to my disappointment in this guy I'm so interested, who chose to do his celebrating with a different girl. Honestly, I've never felt like I did in that moment. It was worse than what I imagine death to be. It was actually, physically painful. My heart fell out of my chest, right in front of everyone. A good friend of mine, my best friend really, helped comfort me afterwards... but it still wasn't enough. And I thought something funny, in that instant - despite the fact that he knows how I feel, he doesn't have what I have: you. I can write to you, confide in you, flirt with you, and he doesn't have anyone like that. I'm pretty sure most people don't have anything close to what we have with each other. And I know that despite all of this terrible nonsense happening, that you'll reassure me that I'd be worth it and that he's an idiot - and for some reason, when you say it, I'll believe it._

_Looking forward to another letter. Reply in the same place you did last time._

_Elizabeth._

She'd wander the halls for a while before checking for a reply, then go back to the common rooms for bed. She couldn't stand to walk in there now, not after what had just happened. It was mortifying, just passing a Gryffindor fourth year in the halls - the little look of pity. Did everyone in the world know she'd loved Ron? Did everyone know what had just transpired? It was pathetic. However, there were hallways to roam, dormitories and dark corners to avoid. She trudged on, slipping about through hallways in the castle.

Right as rain, in an hour and fifteen minutes she returned to the library, and there was a reply.

_He's an idiot. Guaranteed. He's probably brain dead. What man on earth would be stupid enough to do that to someone like you? He's got to be out of his mind, or worse - just an idiot. Whoever she is, I can guarantee you you're a hundred times better, because you're a hundred times better than any female I know... that settles it. He's blind! And deaf! And also a complete moron! And you're right - at least we have our letters. I mean, something tangible, a real-world romance... that would be nice as well. Beyond nice. That would make my life infinitely better... for sure. But if you're sure we shouldn't know who each other is yet... then that's your choice. Though I assure you, if we met in person and got together, and we walked around with you on my arm... he'd be jealous. Immensely._

_But we do have this for now, and he is a complete idiot. I wish I could comfort you in person for whatever it is that happened, but for now I'll just remind you that you're the most amazing woman I've had the chance of meeting, and that it is my only wish to be able to be with you, someday._

_Yours, Darcy._

How did he manage to do that? To melt her insides? Maybe he was right... maybe a relationship could work. But... maybe not. In the mess of things that was her life at the moment, she wasn't sure that she could handle finding out who her mystery man was, attempting to start a relationship with him, and flaunting him around in front of Ron. She'd probably actually die if that happened.

In a moment of clarity, however, she realized something - he didn't know what had happened... and yet every Gryffindor in school had been present for Ron snogging Lavender. That meant something, it meant something highly important - he wasn't a Gryffindor. She rushed back to her dormitory, stuffing the letter into her pocket. This was a development! This was serious! She pulled the list from her trunk, ignored the petty, triumphant look of her whiney roommate Lavender, and sealed herself into her four poster. The list. Twenty-five males... and she could now cross off the rest of the Gryffindors. That knocked out quite a few of them... and got her that much closer to figuring out exactly who this mystery man was, and if she really could attempt to try to pull off a relationship with him.


	10. Chapter 10

She wasn't a Slytherin. That much was true. In the days since the match, he'd remembered something she'd said about the bloke she was interested in, snogging someone else. If he were in any other house, it would narrow down his ideas immensely. However, he was in Slytherin - so naturally, every other house would be celebrating their loss, and Gryffindor's victory. It wasn't mad to think she was a Gryffindor - though how he'd managed to develop feelings for such a goody prat was a loss to him - but she definitely wasn't a Slytherin. This left less than three quarters of the females in his year... but how could he tell who? Keeping track in his head was dizzying. He'd tried to look over girls shoulders for handwriting clues, but they'd all just hidden their papers quickly, thinking he was cheating off their assignments - especially nerdy Granger. How was he supposed to ever figure it out if none of the girls ever gave him any clues? It was maddening. He took out fresh parchment and his best quill, with emerald ink. He began writing the names of every girl in his class - unaware that the girl he'd been writing to, had done the same exact thing.

When all of the names were scrawled down the length of parchment in two neat columns, he began eliminating those who didn't fit the categories. Wasn't a Slytherin. Was Pureblood. Didn't play Quidditch. Didn't have a boyfriend. Was intelligent. Etcetera. When finished, he had a nice list whittled down to only fifteen girls - less than half of what he started with. This was going to be easier than he thought, perhaps.

What he didn't know, however, was that his mystery had already lied about something - and this mistake would later prove to slow down his efforts at finding out exactly who this girl was. He walked quickly to the library, looking for her response from the night before. He was hoping she wasn't there already, classes had just ended an hour or two ago, and he wanted to grab the letter quickly, without pretending he was there for some other frivolous reason.

* * *

_Darcy,_

_I hate to admit it, but I'd LOVE to make him jealous. The way he's been acting, it's like he doesn't care about me at all... and I know that's rubbish, but it's a bit too late for that now, isn't it? He's with her now, and I've nothing to show for months - hell, YEARS of subtle flirting and jokes and... all of it. I know you'd be better for me. I can just feel it. But... I still don't know who you are. Trust me, it kills me every time to not know. Every time I pick up a letter and read what you write, every time you assure me that someone out there doesn't think I'm a waste of space… and every time I see you signature at the bottom. It isn't your name, I know, but I imagine what it might be like if we figured out who each other were, what your real signature looks like – from what I can tell, it would be fine – regal, really. His was chicken scratch, at best. Not even readable. It was another thing that I'm learning I didn't really like about him at all._

_I'm constantly afraid that I'm going to see you in the library, tucking in a reply or fishing out a letter of mine. I'm just too afraid of finding out who you are right now. Something feels especially wrong about this year, and I can't help the feeling that something sinister is happening. I wouldn't want this to go wrong as well._

_Hoping to hear from you soon – Elizabeth_

She had been honest, of course. She'd almost wished she'd been honest about her blood status in the earlier letter – would prevent a lot of confusion if they were to ever meet – but for now, it was a safety net. He had one assumption about her that was incorrect, so that if he ever tried to guess at her identity, he'd be wrong. And she'd keep him in the dark, for now, just as he was keeping her. It was better this way.

* * *

_Liz-_

_I've got a suggestion. Why don't we split days? Obviously, we can't help a trip to the library when we really need it, but I think that organizing our letter schedules will keep us from accidentally discovering the identity of the other. Any time we're in the library for anything else, during any other time of day, we can't check for the letters. And we can't be anywhere near the location of the book, either._

_I'll take afternoons, straight after classes. You can take nights, after dinner. You write your letters and drop them off at night. I'll reply in the afternoon of the next day, and you'll get it by nightfall. This way, we won't run into each other searching for letters if someone takes a few days. Any other time we're in the library… just don't sit near where you've told me to reply, obviously. Then you'd be able to see me find it. And I'll do the same. And if we happen to be in the Library at the same time, which I'm sure has happened once or twice now already, we won't know who the other is – just another Sixth year, doing homework or some light reading._

_This year still does feel bad… you're right. I think something bad is going on. If I were you, or anyone else, I'd be especially careful. Anyone could be watching at any time, and you never know who has bad intentions. Try not to go anywhere alone, I get a sick feeling walking the halls by myself, and I'm a perfectly capable, full grown male, duelist. That's saying something. The weather's getting cold again, and I want you to be warm as well. Keep on a nice coat so you don't catch cold. Trying to do homework while you're ill is like trying to fight the squid blindfolded – you're doomed. Stay warm and calm and safe. I wish I could tell you this in person, hold you tight, but for now I can only convey my affections over parchment._

_Darcy_

He was a sap, and he knew it. But the plan was good. Very good, actually. And now that he knew when she'd be in there checking… if either of them _really_ wanted to know about the other one, they could always peek around just a little, when the other was supposed to be in checking. It would be easy enough. But at the same time, until either of them decided that it was actually a good idea, they could remain anonymous, and even sneak a letter in during breakfast if they felt so inclined. He walked towards the library feeling quite pleased with his use of logic and good timing. Today, actually, hadn't been bad. He was extremely pleased with her letter and hearing about her wanting to make this other bloke jealous. He was pleased with his plan. And he'd had an excellent breakfast for once, sitting far enough down the Slytherin table so as not to be disturbed by his 'friends'. It was quiet. He had toast and jam and waffles and poached eggs with Hollandaise. He had gone to his first lesson stuffed and happy, and had just left Dinner the same, after choosing to eat alone again.

Entering the library, he once again ran into Granger – this time, going the same way he was. She obviously hadn't been looking when rounding a corner, and they'd run into each other's shoulders with some force, causing her to drop a few books in her arms. Out of instinct, Draco stooped to pick up the one nearest him, and one other. When he stood, holding them out to her, she looked horrified.

"Scared of the books then, Hermione Granger? That's why you're returning them?"

"You've called me by my given name twice now. And you just picked up my books. I'm not sure whether I should be flattered or shocked. And you brought back my wax… I never really thanked you for that."

"You didn't, no. But you're welcome. As a frequent writer of letters, I can tell you how hard it is to come by wax while at Hogwarts. Without a good stick, you might as well just not send your letter."

"You write letters?"

"To a… friend. Yes. Often."

"I just… never took you for the writing type."

"I'm quite eloquent when I try. Do you?"

"Write? Letters? I do."

"Good. Good mark of a good person… if they can write letters well."

Surprised as he was that he was being this kind, he decided to spook her more with two more moves. Instead of letting her grab the books, he followed behind her to the front desk, returning them to Pince and then following her to a set of little cubby desks in a corner, with one low wall between them. She sat in one, not looking at him, and he sat in another, staring openly at her. He'd never really been this closer to her, he supposed. She wasn't as unattractive as he'd made himself believe. Her hair was still bushy, and even after reduction her teeth were a little large, but she had nice skin, delicate features, and long lashes over deep brown eyes. Even just now, staring at a pile of books she'd picked up, lips slightly parted, she looked halfway nice. Imagine that.

"Granger?"

"Hmm?"

"This is going to be the only time you'll hear this in your lifetime. But I need your help."

"Draco Malfoy? Asking my help? For what, homework? I thought you'd figured that out on your own."

"For the most part, yes. There's just… oh, Merlin. There's a transfiguration essay due tomorrow and I've gotten most of it done, I'm just unsure how to actually _start_ it."

"With a proper hook, obviously."

"How? I wrote mine on the complications in transfiguring an inanimate object into a living thing that properly responds. Responses in transfiguration like this are…"

"Complicated, yes. There's a certain… there's a balance between intuition and intelligence that you need, for getting it to work right. You can't just think of transforming a goblet back into a mouse, like she taught us, but rather turning that goblet back into a living, breathing, walking, thought-processing mouse."

"You're saying I have to look deeper? Put a ton of different clues and theories and ideas together into one moment of thought?"

"Yes."

"That sounds bloody exhausting. How do you do it?"

The silence that followed his statement was tense. She nearly laughed. "That sounded almost like flattery."

"I'm second in our class, Granger, and I still don't think on the same planes you do."

"You're second?"

"Someone has to be. I'd love to be first, but I don't mind avoiding the bookworm names or the nerd ridicule."

"It's not easy."

"I can't… yeah. Crabbe and Goyle taunt me constantly. So does Pansy, though I really think it's because she's jealous. She's a bit dim. I get the best marks and have the most common sense."

"Not the most common sense, I assure you." It was as if with that one statement, she'd turned cold. She stood, picking up her books. "Thank you for helping me. And remember what I said about talking about putting it all together. But your common sense is lacking, Malfoy. If you had any, your allegiance would be different than it is now."

She stalked from the room, pausing only briefly, he saw, to set down the stack of books a few aisles over and sift through something, then put it back again. So much for kind. She was probably looking up something stupid, as usual. She knew _nothing_ about him. She was practically a stranger. If she knew even half of what the girl from his letters knew… she'd know where his alliance lay. She'd know that despite his exterior, despite everyone else's beliefs, his acting the part of the dark prince was all a façade. He knew what was right, and in the end it would be that which he fought for. His clear forearms were evidence enough of that.

He stood, walking a few aisles down and hastily tucking the letter into the book she'd specified. Granger hadn't ruined his day, only really made it a little better. He'd helped her, and she'd helped him. And they made commentary on scarcity of quality sealing wax at Hogwarts. It could be a start. She probably wasn't too terrible after all.


	11. Chapter 11

_...come to think of it, splitting days is an excellent idea. I don't know why neither of us thought of it before. We probably could have run into each other countless times and accidentally found out who the other one was. That wouldn't be good. I'll go ahead and agree with you, nights are better for me anyway as I'm usually there studying pretty late. Lots of work, not lots of time..._

_Anyway, just wanted to okay the change and pop in to say hello. I've been awfully busy lately and haven't had time to even relax, so I have to go. I eagerly await your reply, and I'll look for it tonight._

_-Elizabeth_

He held the letter in his hands for moments afterwards. That was it? He'd wanted more. He wanted to hear about her day, about what was bothering her. He didn't really realize it until that moment, but what he'd really enjoyed about her letters was hearing not just her deepest secrets, but also the mundane daily things. This girl was real, and she was out there somewhere. He only needed to keep her interested long enough to possibly find out who she was. He quickly pulled out his quill and wrote his reply, tucking into the title she'd penned in at the bottom of the letter. She'd find it in a few hours, just after dinner. And then he'd have to wait until tomorrow to hear from her. Just knowing that it would be a full twenty-four hours before he heard from her again was bad enough. They'd be full of classes, boring chatter between 'friends', the cold dungeons, etcetera. He almost couldn't stand it. He stuck the book back on the shelf and grabbed his bag, heading for the doors. The sooner he got on with it, the sooner the next letter would come. Right?

* * *

Irma Pince had been the librarian on staff for nearly two decades now, but never had she seen such peculiar behavior from a pair of students. It was well known that Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger were mortal enemies, sitting on opposite sides of the line dividing not only Hogwarts, but the rest of the wizarding world. Though they were both intelligent, it was Draco's arrogance and haughtiness that kept most people from liking him at all. But if this were true, and if this were Draco's true nature, why would Hermione be posting notes to him throughout library books? She was a highly intelligent girl, to say the least, and Irma had come to enjoy her presence in the library these past six years. Draco, on the other hand, was a little more reserved about his time in the library. He spent all of his time studying there in a tiny corner cubby, hidden from view. She knew he was second in their class, barely trailing Granger, but she was unsure if any of the students themselves knew this little tidbit.

As if on cue, Draco Malfoy swept down a long hallway, opened a book, and stuck a letter straight into the center. Another letter for Hermione. Irma couldn't help her curiosity. Perhaps this was the only way the two could be friends. Perhaps they knew who the other was, perhaps they didn't. Irma wasn't ancient, and her thirst for a good forbidden friendship - or romance - was soon to be quenched. She waited until Draco left the library and then pulled the book from the shelf herself, finding the letter quickly. The letter was sealed, but that was no matter - because of a secretive sister in her youth, Irma had long known the spell to have a letter read itself to you in hushed tones. She tapped her wand to the page and a soft whisper filled her ears, speaking the words of someone who deeply cared about the intended receiver of this letter.

He loved her - that much was clear. This was no schoolboy crush, no silly love note. This was a slow, careful declaration of his feelings. Not once did he use any physical descriptors. He spoke only of their letters. Their pen names - from the classic Pride and Prejudice - were another indication. Draco Malfoy and Hermione did not know they were writing these letters to each other. They only knew one thing - that on the other end of their letters came someone who was so fundamentally, deeply perfect for them, that perhaps this was the only way to live it out. A tear threatened to fall from Madam Pince's eye, but she blinked it away, quickly shutting the letter back in the tome and walking back to her post at the desk.

Perhaps them not knowing was best. Though Mr Darcy and Liz Bennett were appropriate nicknames for the pair, Irma could only think of one other set of literary lovers that could fit them better. If there were ever a pair of star-crossed lovers, it was this one here. She sighed, picking up her latest novel and delving into the pages of another far off romance, this one entirely fictional and not at all happening in her very own library.

* * *

Hermione sneezed, alerting Harry and Ron to her whereabouts at the farthest study desk in the Gryffindor common room. Damn. She'd been here nearly ten minutes, hoping to finish her latest letter before joining them by the fire. They'd stopped asking questions, at least, but that didn't mean that Harry gave her a very disapproving look every time he saw her with a letter. Honestly, she could see why he would be apprehensive, but she was intelligent enough to know when things were dangerous, and besides, nothing about this felt bad or wrong like the diary had, or like Snape's old Potions book. Those things had an obvious strange feeling. When Hermione wrote these letters, nothing felt bad at all.

The quill had been tickling her nose, and Harry and Ron turned once more to see her there. Harry beckoned over, and she held up a finger to gesture. _One moment._ He seemed to understand that she was busy, and turned away, but Ron held her gaze there for a moment before turning back to Harry. Lavender was nowhere in sight, and good riddance. Hermione couldn't stand her nasal, high pitched voice. It was like listening to mandrakes. Without earmuffs.

_Also, the rotation seems to be going well. I don't like that I have to wait all day to talk to you, though. I wake up in the mornings and I just want to read your letter or write you something, but I can't do either thing until later at night, and it's awful. As it is, I'm writing you now and it's just after breakfast. I picked up your letter last night and I won't hear from you again for quite some time. It's funny, how previous to this I didn't care this much about communication or contact with anyone at all. Even my closest friends, I wouldn't see for half a day and it wouldn't phase me a bit. There's something about hearing from you that I enjoy, probably much too much._

She sighed. Out of all of this, there were only two things that really perplexed Hermione - who could this mystery man be? And when had she turned into such a _girl?_

* * *

_There's something about hearing from you that I enjoy, probably much too much._

He knew the feeling. Ever since he'd started getting these letters from this girl, he couldn't help but be infinitely less interested in everything else in his life. There was, of course, the matter with his father and Voldemort... that sort of pressure was about to drive him mad. But even the harrowing, haunting fear that spread through him when he thought about his task, was washed almost completely away by the sight of a new letter from her. One letter. Just about a page of text, in her neat, even scrawl. One letter was so paramount to everything else in his life.

He'd kept them, every single one, in a small box beneath his bed. He'd charmed it to open only for him, and he took them out sometimes, wondering how he'd gotten himself so entangled in this girl and her poetic language and her love. _Love._ Perhaps it wasn't quite there yet, but the stirrings in him were unlike anything he'd felt before, family or otherwise. The person that he'd loved most, perhaps, previous to this whole thing, had been his mother. Though she scared the wits out of him half the time, he did genuinely care about the woman and her well-being. He feared for her sometimes while he was at Hogwarts, with his father home alone with her. It wasn't right. He felt protective over her, just as he felt for this girl he'd been writing to. He wanted no harm to come to her. He wanted nothing but for this girl to be happy.

He had no idea what she looked like, where she came from, or how she liked her tea. He didn't know if she was tall, short, skinny, round, pale, dark, or anything else. She'd claimed to be a pureblood, but what if even that was false? What if she only said that to appease anyone who'd written? He brushed the idea aside. How would she have known that he should have cared about blood status? He chuckled softly to himself. The old Draco - from perhaps a year and a half's previous - would have cared. He would have spit on the idea that he have feelings like this from anyone with less noble heritage. _Noble._ As if murder and shame were noble at all.

Draco tucked her most recent letter into his bag, setting off down the hallway. He'd only been in the library for seven minutes, and it had been during his regular rotation time, but something felt off - as if she were there, watching him. He left the library feeling something... peculiar. He definitely had feelings for this girl, no matter who she was. He meant that. And though he knew that his family's involvement with the wrong sort could potentially endanger anyone in contact with him, he knew that no matter who this girl was, he would protect her. To keep it short, Draco Malfoy was in deep.


	12. Chapter 12

_School is stressful, of course, but when you've got a less-than-supportive family at home, school is the least of your worries. I sometimes wonder what it would be like, to have normal parents with normal jobs, doing normal things. Mine are... a little out of the ordinary. And not particularly in the way that I'd like._

"You're not the only one, then." Hermione muttered to herself, reading his most recent letter over breakfast. She'd retrieved it that morning after a particularly difficult time the night previous - with Ron and Lavender all over each other and Harry doing nothing but brooding over Ginny and Dean looking cozy in the corner. He wouldn't even attempt to re-teach her wizards chess, which she'd forgotten about again, nor would he bother to respond probing questions about his Potions text. This letter was needed.

_But besides just the fact that they're a little... unusual. My parents also put a lot of pressure on me. On top of school work, trying to survive this sixth year, the extra pressure and responsibility is becoming unbearable. I don't have any time in a day for myself. Well, I tend to have an hour or two for studying, or writing, or checking for your letters... I'd rather have a ton of classwork than have this all coming from my parents. It's exhausting, I'm getting sick all the time._

_I wish I had more time, but sadly I'm out of it. I've got a practical exam to practice for, plus something like a billion chapters to read before the end of the week. I'm at least excited for Christmas break beginning soon - I may still have pressure from my parents, but it'll be different when I'm there. Still, though, I'd rather be here and able to write to you, than have to deal with my parents. Clearly, staying at Hogwarts would be better for me than going home, but I'll probably have to go anyway. Hope you've got good plans as well. I wish daily that I knew who you were, if only so I could glance at you in passing and be able to connect a face to this feeling. To know who gives me this much relief, this much happiness, where I have none else._

_Darcy_

How did he do that, anyway? Practically make her heart stop? She had to admit even then, that while the pain from Ron's little betrayal still stung, it was nothing compared to the lift in her spirits when she got one of these letters. Carefully, without creasing the page, she tucked it back into her bag and left the breakfast table. She had classes, and a letter, and everything else to deal with... and while living in this little dream was nice, she couldn't let him figure out who she was. He probably wouldn't be happy with what he found.

* * *

He'd checked twice, but there had been no letter. Why? She could have put it there the day previous, but she hadn't. She had to just be busy, but... it was so exhausting, having the only good thing in his life to be waiting for or reading a letter from someone he might not even know face to face. He'd check once more while he had a few minutes in his allotted time, or else he'd have to wait until tomorrow. It was awful.

What wasn't, though, was the long awaited presence of a letter stuck between pages nineteen and twenty. He let out a sigh of relief, of happiness, of... something. He crossed the library, sitting down at his usual cubby desk, and opened it in haste.

_Darcy,_

_I admit, talking to anyone else about pressures is difficult, especially since mine are mostly school. My parents, also, are a little different than most... but probably in a different way than yours. The only other frustrations I get are my two best friends - but I've told you all about how daft the one is being, and how distant the other is. It's our sixth year, not our second, I wouldn't expect this much childish drama. Unfortunately, for the same reasons I love them - their goofy ways, childish humor - I can't stand their issues. That's part of friendship._

_I'm having such a hard time keeping up with schoolwork, it's ridiculous. I just want to toss it all in the bin, set it aflame, something of the sort. While I do find most of it pretty interesting, I couldn't say that I love not having time to myself either. All of my free time is spent studying or writing to you, so that's where my time goes._

_Don't you dare try and find out who I am! I'd love to know as well, but the both of us know that it could just ruin everything... we could be too different, outside of these letters. We both know that while we're our complete selves here, we aren't like that elsewhere - I not as passionate or calm, you not as deep or worried. We could be much more different than that, as well. What if you were some quidditch playing arse? And if I were a quiet, anti-social type? What if that were reverse? We just can't. Not now, maybe not ever. If we ever do, though, I'd hope your feelings wouldn't change if you were to find out who I am._

_Yours, Elizabeth_

His. His. All his. He wished. And in just a few short weeks, he'd be leaving Hogwarts for Christmas break, he was sure. He wouldn't be able to write her for two and a half weeks, or hear from her, or anything.

As if it had come to him by magic, an idea formed in his head. Yes, he'd be able to write to her, sort of. She wouldn't be able to respond, but she'd know that he'd be missing her. She'd know how bad he wanted to find out who she was. Grinning, Draco tucked her letter into the pocket of his robes and descended into the dungeons, where he might begin to carefully craft his latest plan - so opposite of that of his fathers - and where he might begin to tell this mystery woman just how much he cared for her.

* * *

_My Dearest Elizabeth_

_As I've mentioned before, I'll be gone for the Christmas holidays. My family requests that I return home, and so I must. As much as I'd like to stay here, if only for the chance of being closer to you or being able to talk to you, I can't. Instead, I've decided to leave you a series of letters to read while I'm gone. Each will be three days apart, if you so choose. One will lead to the next, and so on._

She stood in the doorway of the Great Hall now, with the sun bright through the windows. The train left in just an hour, and as soon as it did, she'd go find his first letter. In this moment, though, she let her eyes sweep over the four long tables and the people sitting there. She set her eyes on every name still on her list - there were under twenty, now - and tried to feel something, anything coming from someone. There was nothing, of course, but wouldn't it have been nice? To just know? To just be in his presence and know that he was near?

It was in that moment that Hermione knew - she would meet him, face to face, much sooner than the end of the school year. It drew breath from her lungs to make such a realization, but she knew it to be true. She'd meet this mystery man, and who knew what would happen when she did?

_Two weeks later..._

She'd gotten the first letter as soon as the train left the platform, as she'd planned.

The first letter was about their previous ones - how much he enjoyed hearing from her every day, how much he loved hearing about her life, and how he felt when things had happened to her. He listened. He cared.

The second was about how he felt. He might love her. He knew that he hadn't really felt it before, and he was scared, but everything about her seemed right. He was only afraid she might not like who he was when she found out.

The third was a confirmation - he did love her. And he would find her, somehow. That was all.

The last was full of dreams - what could happen if they found each other. He admitted he would have to keep it secret for a while, for a few reasons. While reading, she agreed - she had a responsibility as well, and her dedication to Harry and the inevitable war. But he spoke of the times after that - perhaps they could travel. Escape prying eyes, you know? She knew. He spoke of having money his parents couldn't touch. Not a great deal, but enough for them to be together. She knew she'd like that.

She read them all through a fourth time and tucked them away with the rest. Her first letter to him would be short, but he'd like it anyway. She thanked him for the letters and reciprocated it all - the love, the need to meet eventually, wanting to be together after the war... writing her letter, she wept. It seemed unlikely, even then, and she had no idea what was coming next. As soon as she'd sealed and delivered it to the requested book, she took out her list and crossed off more names. There were now just nine left, from fifty. She knew she'd meet him, but with her responsibilities... she just wanted to put it off. Excuses were dwindling. So was time.

* * *

The pair to her list was also being carefully looked over - Draco did some revising. She had to be intelligent, so he crossed off those who were not. She'd admitted she wasn't a total troll, so those he found grotesque were off. She was well spoken, those who couldn't hold conversation were gone. His list was cut, fast, down to just a handful of names. Two girls in Hufflepuff, Padma Patil, and a sixth year girl that had transferred from a foreign school last year. He doubted it was her, but it hadn't been proven, so he left it. He looked over the names he'd crossed off, realizing most of them shared reasons - there was only one person who hadn't been excluded for multiple reasons, and the name was most shocking.

Hermione Granger, he remembered clearly, had only been crossed off because of her blood status. She could be lying, of course. She was intelligent, well read and well spoken. She was actually sort of pretty in her own way - petite, with very pale, smooth skin. Big brown eyes, a few freckles, sort of bold eyebrows, a narrow chin. There was the matter of that hair, but no matter how many times he'd made fun of her for it, it was endearing in a way.

His finger lingered on her name not a moment later - he heard his dormmates enter the room and tucked the list and letters away for another time.

* * *

Ron and Lavender had to be less than twenty yards away, but there was no pang in her heart, no sadness upon her face. For the first time she'd really thought about it, Hermione didn't feel anything at all when the couple passed by. Previously there had been a longing, a sadness. She hated seeing him with her, arms around each other. But now... things were different. She had someone else to long for.

Who needed Ron, really, when she had someone like her Darcy?

* * *

Two Hufflepuffs. Two Gryffindor. Yet none of them seemed like they could be the girl from the letters. He thinks of this faceless, amazing stranger as he thinks of the bottle of Meade stashed safely under his bed. Entering the castle, it was untainted, allowed by Snape to pass because he knew of the plan. Despite doubting this silly little plan would work, he allowed it. Draco knew in that moment that this would be his last direct attempt to kill Dumbledore. He couldn't do it anymore. He didn't want that. Instead, he would focus his time on the cabinets, on getting his father's friends into the castle. Then, Snape would have to finish the job. He was bound by oath, perhaps to protect Draco himself. Draco had figured this out long ago, but had kept his mouth shut. His silent gratitude was enough, then.

The bottle, the cabinet, the letters, the girl. They all filled his head as Draco fell into a restless slumber.


	13. Chapter 13

He had a list as well, then. He'd briefly mentioned a few of his ways of trying to discover who she was.

_I've been writing down names, crossing off things when you mention parts of your life - its exhausting, trying to keep up with the whole thing, but it also brings me a step closer to you each day. There are only four names left on my list - one of them could be yours, if you've been entirely truthful. There are two Hufflepuffs and two from Gryffindor. I have no idea which you could be._

Well, that would teach him a lesson. He knew she could have lied at one point, and she had. She'd written in one of their first letters that she was pureblood - and it couldn't have been farther from the truth. Still, she figured she might lead him farther off trail by knocking off half of his list. Soon he'd have no names left, and then no idea who she actually was at all.

On the other hand, she felt he hadn't lied to her once. _Imagine that,_ she thought. _A man who has never lied or betrayed me._

* * *

_Darcy,_

_I admit, I have told you one false thing - though I can't reveal which one it is. If it really came down to it though, I'd hope you'd be the type that wouldn't mind. It's nothing, after all. I will give you this - I'm not in Hufflepuff. So you can cross those two off right away. I hope that of the two names left, you weren't getting your hopes up - since I may have told a little white lie, the truth might be that I'm neither of those girls at all._

_I too have a list, though there are nine names left - and assuming that you haven't taken me for a fool or lied to cover something up, you are one of them. That puts me at infinitely closer to finding out who you are, and I'm not even sure that's such a brilliant idea. Like we've said... what if we're too different? On paper, we can fib and bend ourselves into being someone the other one wants to be. In real life... we're solid. There is no changing us._

_I do love you, I know that. I haven't ever felt this in a romantic way, not like this, but I know this must be it. I hope you are well, you did mention becoming sick at times. Are you doing the Apparition training? Write soon. Book information on the back._

_Eliza_

He let out a sigh. How wonderful it was to hear from her again. He'd been back a week from the holiday break, and he felt as if these were the first letters all over again - except that instead of responding with feelings of friendship, it was feelings of love for the first time that filled their letters.

Break had been horrible. His father had beat him mercilessly as soon as he'd arrived home for not having finished the job yet. Dumbledore was to die by his hand, and so far he'd only made feeble, childish attempts.

He'd attempted to get the Mead to Dumbledore - he'd brewed the poison himself from Snape's stashes - but his Imperius curse had apparently not been strong enough.

"Your heart has to be in it, Draco!" Another blow. "You were chosen for this duty, it is an honor to do the Dark Lord's bidding and I expect that it will be completed by next I see you, or you'll share the fate of your Headmaster!" A final blow to end the never ending round, and his father was gone. He only saw him twice more over break, and each time was more frightening than the last. When at long length it was time to return to Hogwarts, Draco anticipated the moment he could step off the train, bolt out of sight, and sneak to the Library to find her letter. It was waiting for him, a beacon of peace and love and hope. She loved him too. She wanted all of the things he wanted, dreamed all of the things he dreamed. It was better than he could have imagined. She was his, though not in any tangible sense. He could touch her letters, breathe in the sweet scent of her that was left on her parchment, but until he discovered who she was and how she managed to make all feel right in the world, he could not feel her in his arms. It was not enough. He had to know.

With the two Hufflepuff names crossed off, he looked at the two. Even since receiving her letter, he'd found out it could not be either of the names listed here. The foreign girl had not come back from break - her parents worried about an attack from Voldemort. They were smart, in that move. And the Patil twins had gotten in trouble the day her most recent letter had been delivered, and were in detention all day.

He was back at zero. He had no idea who she was again. Back to wondering, to hoping, that one day he might see her face and know that it was she that made him feel this alive.

* * *

"What if you meet, and he's not someone you should be liking? What if he's a Slytherin?"

"I've thought about that. And if he is... he's said things. That make me realize that no matter what he is, what house... there's something between us. There's something there, no matter what house we're in. I'm more afraid that if we ever met, _he_ wouldn't like _me_."

"Only because you're infinitely smarter than he is, I bet."

Hermione rolled her eyes. Harry had a way of saying all the right and wrong things. Yes, she was intelligent. He had to be too, obviously, and they'd written about it at times.

"But the problem wouldn't be my intelligence, Harry. The right man would see past that. The problem would be that I'm _Hermione Granger_ \- I've got a bit of a know-it-all description around here. I don't know if you've realized that, but people don't... people don't like me because of it."

"Really? Haven't noticed." Harry took a bite of his apple, the snap of it only partially hiding his grin. She smacked his shoulder across the breakfast table, sighing again.

"Look, 'Mione. He loves you, right? Or so you say?"

"He's said it himself."

"If he really truly does love you... it won't matter to him. He'll still love you. It won't change how he feels."

It was reassuring, mildly. But even Harry's pep talk couldn't rouse her from the fact that if her Darcy ever did find out who she was, he might not be fond of what he found. Perhaps, though...

"Anyway, Harry. I'm going to the library for a few moments before class."

"Letter?"

"I am waiting for one. But no, mostly because I have to look something up... something about the Half Blood Prince. I was looking through records the other day and stumbled upon someone worth looking into."

Harry nodded, waving her off. "Off to the library then. I'll see you later."

Hermione gathered her things and set off through the halls, making it quickly to the library. She had to find out who he was, before he found out who she was. Then she'd be able to know if this was actually worth fighting for. Only a nagging pit in the back of her brain told her that no matter what she found out, he'd be worth it.

* * *

He lingered now, every time. He had to be in the library now anyway, what was the harm in making sure their letter was still there, or checking up on subjects he'd learned about in recent lessons?

He knew his excuses were crap, and if she knew what he was up to, she wouldn't like it. She really didn't want him to know who she was yet, if ever. The ideas were depressing. What if they never actually met? No, he wouldn't - couldn't let that happen. He had to know. He vowed to find her. He looked around the room - the usual library crowd. A gaggle of Ravenclaw students of all ages. A handful of Hufflepuffs. Hermione Granger, head bent low over a book of old school records. She was always looking at the strangest things, but he supposed that's where all of her intelligence came from - she learned things from places others didn't even bother thinking of. He might have to take a page out of her book, so to speak. He was the only Slytherin in the room, but that was average. Most simply took their books down to the dungeons and studied there.

He stood, walking once through the maze of tomes. She'd walked these hallways, picking through books and learning and reading and planting letters. He turned a corner, almost knocking into Granger's mop of hair.

"Draco, sorry..."

"No worries." He grinned slightly, nodding and continuing on his way. He remembered his finger lingering on her name on the list. She was all of the things the girl from the letters was, give or take a thing or two - but she'd been lying. Back to zero. In truth, he had a letter to write anyway, and so sat down to pen it out.

* * *

_A few days later..._

She fingered the edge of the letter in her hand. She only had to wait until Harry stopped talking to get past him, get to the Library, and read it. Then she could respond, leave, and wait. There was something about the last few letters - it was inevitable. They'd discover who each other were. And soon. The thought both excited and terrified her.

"Harry, I've... I have to get to the library. I'm still looking up information on Eileen Prince and..."

"Who? Yeah, keep at it then. I've got to meet with Ron anyway, Ravenclaw's about to play Slytherin and doesn't fair well..."

She simply smiled, letting him amble past and through the hallways. In moments, she was at the library doors. She'd picked this letter up shortly before Lunch, but Harry had spent most of his time talking about the Half Blood Prince, and the potions book - she had to listen to that, to maybe gain some information that might help him find out who the book belonged to. She didn't like his new aptitude for potions, which he was usually lousy at. It was practically cheating.

His letter - short but sweet, listing possibilities of them being together after the war, of them knowing who the other was - melted her heart. She penned off a quick reply, noting her agreeing to all of the above. In his letter, he was looking for the answer to his friend's homework question - an answer she knew immediately. He'd been asking about a Kappa, a reptilian beast of old Oriental folklore. She'd spent time studying magical creatures, though her endurance in keeping the courses at Hogwarts wasn't as much as Hagrid might have liked. He'd asked that she leave the letter in the book that was closest to the answer - and there was a book simply called Kappa Folklore that she chose. It was one of only two. He said he'd either find out from his friend or have to research the answer himself. She liked that - he was challenging himself. Intelligence loves company.

* * *

It had been three days without a letter. How long could she wait? Clearly he'd either been extremely busy or hadn't been able to find the answer to the question. He'd have to find it eventually - she was sure there were plenty of people he could ask - but every moment felt like ages. She walked the aisles of the Library yet again, hoping that this time she'd walk through the K isle and find the letter gone. It was still tucked in the first page, where he'd asked, and it was driving her insane.

The letter was still there on her next pass, but it was the second time through that something rather odd happened. Her heart stopped shuffling through books and pages was one Draco Malfoy, brow furrowed and lip bitten. He seemed to be fervently searching for a book that he didn't quite know the title of.

"Having fun there, Malfoy?"

"Not at all, actually. Trying to find a book."

"I see. Which... which book?"

"A book on a Kappa. It's... for a friend."

_I've got an idea. A friend of mine got stuck taking Care of Magical Creatures and needs desperate help with his work. There's a reptilian being in Oriental folklore, the size of a human child, that is supposedly used as myth to scare children out of the water. Place your letter in a book closest matching the answer and I'll find you then. Testing my knowledge._

"I see..." She waited, a few steps back, before realizing his grave error - spelling.

"Draco, I hate to intrude... but Kappa is spelled... oh, here." She stepped back a shelf or two, flicking her wand to retrieve the thick red tome that held her letter. "There are only two up there and the other is on Kappas and other Folkloric creatures... not as specific."

She was waiting for the fleeting moment at which she would know. Draco didn't take Care of Magical creatures - it coincided with the double Potions their houses had together.

It couldn't be - not Draco. She had to admit, he'd been more cheerful lately... but it couldn't have been because of her. He was still brooding, nasty, and snippy outside of the library, but the more she thought about it, the more the pieces seemed to fit together. He seemed happiest on days she'd been going to find his letters - meaning he could have found hers, or written one to her. He'd had immense stress from his father - on something he didn't want to do. He had dim friends. Was intelligent. Had that sort of snarky, sarcastic humor she loved. He flipped the cover of the book open, where the letter sat, and then shut it. She could visually see his shoulders lower - relief. He'd found it. She watched him flick his platinum blonde hair from his face, a slight smile creeping up on his lips.

He looked at her, then at the book, apparently oblivious to the connection. He just thought she was being brainy Granger. He had no idea that she knew what book it was, because she'd just put the letter into it. But what about the other direction, then? This was her Darcy, she was almost sure of it. Unless he was gathering the book for _another_ friend, which was unlikely, she'd been writing these letters - these love letters - to Draco Malfoy. And he loved her too. Her letter, then, was highly ironic. She'd just have to wait to see if he ever made the connection.

She left the library immediately, unsure if she was thrilled that she may have just found her mystery man, or in awe at the fact that he just might be Draco Malfoy.

* * *

_You know I'd love that - to know who you are, to see your face. It's just too risky. With the war coming, and... what if we're still completely different? What if you hate me? You said it yourself, it was much too easy for me to lie in the previous letter about one thing about myself - what if I've been lying this whole time - or what if you have? What if in reality, we hate each other? You could be the annoying one in class, boasting or bragging or worse, cheating. And I could be some snippy, flimsy little girl. What if we aren't who we say we are? Or what if we are, we're perfect for each other... but something prevents us from being together?_

In that moment, relieved that he found the letter at all with help from Granger, Draco sighed. No, this mystery woman could not keep pulling this card. He'd know eventually who she was, what she was about, and how exactly they were going to be together. He'd find a way - abandon his family and the Dark Lord, his old priciples - all for her. He could be a new man, or - the one he always had been, deep inside. He would give everything up for her - the money, the safety, the prestige - none of it was worth even a chance at being with her. It was a chance he was willing to take, for this Elizabeth. He'd find her - and soon.


	14. Chapter 14

Reading through their most recent letters, Hermione sighed. It was a love story - two people, entirely different in their day to day lives, fall in love without ever knowing who the other one truly is. Cue reality. He's the true Slytherin, born of a Death Eater, snappy pureblood prince with a secret good side. She, the brainy muggleborn she thought no one could love like this, with the information that could bring both of their lives crashing down around them. She was in love with Draco Malfoy. And whether or not he knew who she was, he loved her too - 'no matter what'. Or so he claimed...

_Wouldn't it be worse? We finally meet, and we've hated each other for years._

She'd written this after finding out - after helping him find the book, watching his shoulders sag in relief after seeing her letter just inside the front cover. She had to admit, she'd expected his response - but not in such a nearly comedic way.

_You could be as old and taut as McGonagall, and I'd be with you. You could be as whiney as Myrtle, as strict as Madam Pince, or as nutty as Dumbledore, and I'd still love you. You've changed something in me - something I could tell you more about, when we meet. It will happen - I'll find a way. I must know, by Easter break - if I don't know by then, I'll be forced to cheating and lingering in the library to know. I love you. I have to know that you'll still feel the same way when we meet._

He would find out, then. She couldn't just stop responding, even though that was him - to give up on something like this would be absurd, even given the identity of her lover.

She began her next letter then, with caution. Yes, she would admit to him that she knew who he was. She would not say how - only that if he'd been completely truthful, that there was only one man he could be. She'd only say she suspected, not that she knew for certain. Yes, that would be better.

_Darcy -_

_How humorous I find it that your pen name so closely resembles your given name - yes, I think I know who you are. And as strange as it is, I must admit that I had a feeling, at times, that it might be you. If you are who I think you are... the clue of your name should be enough. Also, you're more like Darcy than I originally believed. Ha!_

_If we do meet by Easter... I know that you've sworn you'll still feel the same, no matter who I am. I only think that, given the current climate - politically and socially - you might have certain hesitations. You'd have to do away with them entirely. I love you, more than paper and words can say, but I won't continue to if there's going to be nothing but strife and hard feelings given our identities._

_In modern and olde romances, there's almost always a common theme - something keeping lovers apart. In Pride and Prejudice it was status and symbol, in Romeo and Juliet it was warring houses and death and drama. In our own world... there's a war going on, and it's only going to get worse. I would have to know that it wouldn't drive us apart. I would have to know that you'd be fighting on the right side, doing the right thing. This is more than pride, it is human nature and survival of all that is good._

_Easter is but a few short months away - just over two, actually. With February fast approaching, I'd have to know that if things are... less than satisfactory with our being seen together, that we'd be able to keep this secret - completely silent, if you will. Letters will continue with no names. We may see each other only in complete privacy._

_I do love you, Darcy. But I need to be sure that no matter what forces try to drive us apart, natural or political or otherwise, that you'll still love me too._

_Elizabeth_

Sealed and signed with her last bit of black wax, Hermione placed it in the book he'd last requested - the theme continued with answering questions and factoids. She had a feeling that Easter break was a long shot - they'd discover each others true identities in the days to come.

But what then? He was still Draco Malfoy, and she was still Hermione Granger. What would become of them when the year ended? She was certain that if they spent months together, in secret, sharing what they had... that it would be impossible to go three months without seeing him at all. There was always apparition, but who knew what kind of environment he could be facing... or what she'd find, either. She knew her dedication was to Harry, to helping him find and defeat Voldemort, somehow. But how would Draco factor into that plan? And would he even want to?

* * *

Draco walked the halls with a certain amount of nervousness. He was going to find her, then. He'd made that more than clear to her. Details, they could deal with later. But the very real, very concrete things that were their personalities... that could be the hardest to deal with.

He'd reviewed his list - if she claimed she only told one little white lie, there was still only a small handful of people she could be - six or less. He went over each name, fashioning a situation in his head where she might be each one. But there weren't many names that sparked something in him such as the last on his list. Only she could be this wary. Only she could have written a letter with such a stance against him already. Only she would be that nervous about the two of them not pairing well. Hermione. He'd admitted to himself silently on thinking that it might be her, that he wouldn't mind at all. He would perhaps be a bit weirded out, but... it was Elizabeth. It could be his girl, the one he'd been writing to, confiding in, for months now. This was something that destroyed boundaries, had made him question his very moral fiber, something that - previous to these letters - he might have been thoroughly against, in any capacity.

She knew who he was, then. If the line about the names being similar wasn't enough, he didn't know what was. Still, he wasn't completely sure it was Granger - it could be any right-hearted student at the school, and there were plenty. Draco was outnumbered, in that sense, in the way that by family, he was on the wrong side of the path. By his own beliefs? That was a different matter... one he hoped to rectify soon.

There was a letter on his four poster, his name scratched onto the front. This couldn't be good.

_Your immediate obliging on this matter is crucial. He has asked another request of you - one less demanding, but not less important than your previous task. You must watch over our enemies - I think you know a group of three I may be speaking of. Those students are the very force that drives against us, and must be taken down as well. He will not be around forever. We will accomplish what we have always spoken of and believed in. And you will be a key factor in it all. Do not fail me now, Draco. Your cooperation is necessary. He will reward you greatly when you have finished what he has asked._

There was no sign, but there didn't need to be. It was from his father. Voldemort wanted him to watch over a group at the school, see what they were up to. Potter, Weasley, and Granger. The letter was crumbled into a ball in moments. How he wished this were not his life, that he were any other young man free to pursue the only woman who might ever love him. How he wished he could cast aside this responsibility, to tell his father that he'd seen nothing...

Only, perhaps there was a way. He'd think more on the matter later, but if it were Granger... he thought he might know a way to keep her and her friends safe, no matter how much he loathed Potter and the Weasley idiot. If she cared about them, Draco would see to it that they were not harmed - and that her safety was his first concern. That, at least, was certain. Even if he didn't certainly know it was her, yet.

* * *

_I understand, I really truly do. But the chance we take - danger and love, or safety - both have negatives. If we don't find out for sure who the other one is, we could be safer, depending on who you are. But at the same time... we lose this. We lose everything we've shared, we lose our love. And how good would that be for us? What would this life, with the war coming... what would it mean, without love? Without someone to always turn to? Someone to fight for?_

It was him, she was sure of it. And she had a feeling he might be catching on to who she was, as well. His tone had changed - less desperate, more sure of what he felt and what they could do, how they could be, together. What then? Why didn't he just guess? What he unsure of how she'd react? Surely, the moment they first met face to face after knowing each other this way... it would be a shock. But well worth it, she thought. Worth more than anything.

She left her reply in the last book he'd mentioned. There was only one way to find out if they'd make this work, and no matter how much logic and her own mind fought against it, her heart knew that this was her only choice.

_I'll find you. We will meet. This will not be easy. Do not reply. Next time we come in contact, it will be face to face._

She purposefully didn't leave a book or page number. He would not reply. He'd have no option but to wait for her to make her move, to meet him. She thought at first that she might never be ready, but by the time she'd finished climbing the stairs to Gryffindor tower, she knew she'd been ready long ago.

* * *

He'd gotten her letter days ago, but nothing since. She knew who he was, then, and he had a feeling he knew it was her. He may have known for weeks, since he'd hesitated in crossing her name off his list, since realizing her blood status had been the only thing she'd lied about. Of course it would be - but she'd come to find that it was the thing he cared least about. His opinions were not those of his father, but his own. He would find a way to make this work, he swore it.

Frustrated, he picked up his bookbag and headed to the library. If he couldn't know who she was at that moment, he could at least get some work done without his idiot dorm mates stomping about. And perhaps she would be there in the library as well, and they'd know...

In walking through the doors, his heart nearly stopped beating - he'd almost run right into her, again. Their shoulders brushed for an infinitesimal moment. They both drew sharp breath.

"Hermione, I..."

"No Darc... Draco. It was my fault."

There was a curt nod between them, and then Hermione hurried out of the library and away from him. Only in sitting at his usual cubby and seeing his name magically penned into the corner did he realize something - she'd nearly called him by a different name. One only his Elizabeth would know to call him by. The letters on the desk seemed to shine brighter when he sat, and he recognized the charm. Only he'd be able to see it, and a simple press of the hand would reveal the rest of the message.

_Draco_

_Courtyard, midnight. I've seen you sitting here, I know who you are. It's visible only to you. Bring a coat, it's still snowing but I believe we should definitely talk, at least briefly. I'll get you back into the castle without a peep from Filch or his cat._

_"Elizabeth"_

It had to be her. Only she. on prefect duty that night, would be able to get him back in safely. And only she'd remind him to bring a coat.

If it was Hermione, he'd follow her to the ends of the Earth. He'd put up with Potter and Weasley. He'd earn the trust of her friends and family. He'd be a new man. He'd prove his real loyalty - to those that were kind to him, and to those that showed him love. He'd be disowned from his family... but when had they showed him love, or compassion as she had? Never. She had, in just months, shown him how people were supposed to treat each other. What loyalty and love were like.

If she followed Potter, he would do. He might not smile while doing it, though, unless her hand was strongly entwined in his own.

_Later that night..._

Snow dusted his shoulders, his hair. Midnight had come and gone, and with it a burst of fresh snow. It would cover their tracks, which only added to the secrecy of their meeting. He knew it was her. She knew who he was, as well. The months of letters, the love, the confessions. It had all lead to this moment.

Granger, however uncharacteristically speaking, was late for this moment. It was a half hour past twelve, and he was freezing his arse off. If women were going to be like this all the time, maybe he'd rethink his efforts at following her to the ends of the earth... it was bloody cold out.

As if Merlin himself had sent a sign, he heard the crunch of snow behind him. He whirled around to see, and it was her standing just a few yards from him. The warmth flooded his veins again, bringing him back to life and to heat after years of cold. This was what love felt like. This was what it was like to feel more for any one person than he could ever imagine.

Her lips were slightly parted, darker pink from the bite of cold - or nerves, perhaps. Her hair was tamed slightly, with snow perched lightly on each tendril and curl, giving her an ethereal quality. She was bound in wool jackets and scarves and an oversized beanie, in browns and blacks, with a high pair of lace up boots coming almost up to her knees. He'd forgotten how petite she was, until she looked so overwhelmed by fabric and cold. And yet, through the night of darkness without even the moon to illuminate their faces, she seemed to shine, if just for him.

She took only two steps closer, then stopped again, observing. He took a step as well. There were only feet between them, but he wished there were none. It was a face he'd loathed in his youth, that he'd now come to love, to cherish. A face that he'd never wish to be parted from again. One he knew would haunt his dreams.

She let out a breath, the fog from it seeming to rise in swirls over her head. Her breathing was shaky, like his.

"What now?"

It was a question he'd asked himself many times, but it meant something different coming from her. It wasn't really a question, though. She knew what. There would be danger, lies, covering things up. Secret meetings, late nights, stolen kisses. She was worth it all.

"Now, we're in trouble."

She smiled. "I'm friends with Harry. I'm very nearly used to trouble. Certainly not of this magnitude."

Her _smile_. It sent him whirling. "Certainly not. I trust... you've known for a while?"

"I handed you the book on the Kappa. I knew that night."

"I couldn't even make the connection then... I was too relieved at having finally found your letter. The homework was for Pansy - skipped out on Potions, took the Creatures class to fill an open space. She'd dim as the dungeons themselves, I had to find the answer out myself. Took bloody _days_."

"I'm aware. I had to wait for you to find it, and worry you never would."

"For you, I'd never stop trying." The words were out before he could stop them, but he wouldn't have chosen to anyway. It was the truth. She nodded.

"Draco, I... I would understand if..."

"Bloody hell Hermione, I said you could be McGonagall, in essence, and I'd still love you. I'm terrified, really, but I still mean it."

"You do?"

"I mean, I'm glad you're not McGonagall, but..." He smiled at her, and she rolled her eyes. It was playful, a tone they'd known between each other before. With a face to put to it though, it meant even more.

"Hermione, this will not be easy. I'm scared, for the both of us. If anyone ever found out..."

"Nobody would be happy about it. I understand. But... in time..."

"That might change. I know. I've thought about it. I'd have to disown my family, denounce a lifetime loyalty, and kiss Potter's arse for the next year, but I would."

"I'm sure Harry would love that."

He mock glared at her, and she laughed. A laugh he'd yearned to hear for months, now.

"Draco... this is all a little exhausting. I think... I need sleep."

"And I too."

"There's a passage through the side of the castle. Filch has no idea. Runs a bit closer to the Gryffindor side of the castle, though..."

He waved it away. "No matter. I'll walk you up and use an invisibility charm to get back to the dungeons."

"Are you sure?"

He took three steps closer, closing the distance between them. Her new proximity to him sent his heart into overdrive - even being six inches from her was too much, for the night. He brushed a bit of hair from her face, and let his hand drop down to hers, entwining their fingers together. This was how they would stay.

"I'm sure."

And he did.


	15. Chapter 15

_I know fully well from last years bust with the Inquisitorial Squad that you know exactly where two people would be able to meet in private. Tonight, after dinner. I need to see you._

She carefully folded the tiny slip back together, dropping it into a smaller pocket of her bookbag. She'd been handed this by a small first or second year Slytherin boy who looked frightened - likely by being set on a task by Draco Malfoy. She smiled. If only the rest of the world knew how he could really be...

In the days that had passed since their first meeting, Hermione had only caught sight of him in classes and in the halls. It was agony. At each passing glance she wanted nothing more than to walk straight up to him, grab his hand again, and mosey about through the halls until exhaustion set in. Knowing now, for sure, not only who he was but that he loved her unconditionally despite her identity, had set her into a completely different state of mind. His face appeared in her dreams, day and night, and though only four days had passed, it felt like four years. After dinner. Tonight. Then she'd be able to see him again. Meeting in private. She had a feeling that, given their circumstances, this would happen a lot for them.

_That Night_

She walked past the door three times, whispering directions.

"I need to find the place where Draco is... I need to find the place where Draco waits for me..."

The door appeared. He was there, somewhere. She walked in to find the room smaller than she'd ever used it - just larger than her parents sitting room at home. There was a couch in front of the fireplace, a torch hanging on one wall, and darkness everywhere else. Her heart seized - darkness was not a dear friend of hers - but settled when she heard his voice from the far corner.

"It's funny, really. The only thing you lied about - your blood status - was the thing I cared least about."

"Strange words, coming from a Malfoy."

"Not just any Malfoy. And not just any words." He stepped out of the shadows cast by the dim torch. He did not intend to stay here more than an hour or two - not tonight.

"Apparently so." She went quiet, unsure of what to say. What was there to say, anyway? This was Draco. They were in love. It could kill them.

"There are things we should discuss - if it were anyone else, this would be easier. A bit of time in secret, gradual sightings, a bit of interest from other students, and then nothing."

"But I'm..."

"You're Hermione Granger. The right hand of Harry Potter, the sworn enemy and number one threat to the people my parents call friends and family. There are Death Eaters that would kill you on sight - people I see for holidays and trips home. People I've seen murder innocent others. You're not just any innocent - you're literally the scariest person I could love."

"But what does that mean? We see each other in private, we hide out, tell no one... then what? What happens when I leave? Or you leave? You said it yourself, you won't be wasting your time with classes next year..."

"That's mostly a front, but no. I won't be at Hogwarts. Do you have any idea if you might?"

"Unlikely. I'll be with Harry, and Ron probably... attempting to destroy the one who leads you."

"He leads the Death Eaters - not me."

"You sure fit in with them in the public eye."

"The eyes need adjusting, then." His right hand brushes his left forearm - perhaps his dark mark. Perhaps it's all a ruse, then, and he's only got one to keep himself safe against Voldemort. He's just a foot away now, and she has to look up to see his face. His brow is furrowed, concentrating. Serious.

"Look, Hermione... it's dangerous. Extremely so. But if neither of us plan on attending Hogwarts next year... maybe it'll be easier. Depending on where you're going with Harry, I may be with you, or... I don't know."

"You'd do that?"

"I wouldn't exactly ask you to come to the dark side for me." He smiles then, unexpectedly. She can't help but return one. He puts his hand on her shoulder, gestures to the couch, they sit side by side, her head resting on his shoulder. How strange it is to feel this comfortable around someone who had made her life so miserable previously.

"Why were you such an arse, when we were younger?" She sighs.

"I'm still an arse. I'm just... better about it. I was a kid, and I thought that because of who my father was, everyone should bow at my feet. I've changed since then - and learned. I know what my father truly is, and I don't want to be like him. I don't want to be associated with him at all."

"I didn't want to be associated with you at all either, until this."

"I wouldn't have wanted to know me either. I was..."

"Stuck up? Narcissistic? Mean? Cruel?"

"And childish, and downright horrible. Yes."

"At least you'll admit it." She smirked, leaning closer into him. His arm went around her gently, testing the waters. She allowed it. Despite his past, there was a whole new future ahead of him. She hoped to be part of it.

There was only silence between them for a while. The fire, along with their companionship, warmed them inside and out. It was a tough thing they'd have to endure, but something they'd both fight for, regardless.

Draco sat up, sighing. "It's late. Almost past nine."

"I don't have duty tonight."

"Me either. I should probably... go."

"Same. We should leave separately..."

"Definitely. I'll... you go first. I want to stay and think for a bit." She nodded, rising with him. He walked her to the door, hand in hand. Before she reached the knob, he spoke.

"Wait..."

His hand covered hers, bringing them closer together. His head bowed down, closer to hers, and he pressed his lips to her cheek, just once, gently. When he pulled away, she felt fire there.

The knob turned, and she gave him one more look.

He smiled. "I'll send you a note in coming days. Be ready."

She nodded, stepping out and closing the door behind her. That was it, then. They were going through with this. Despite the danger, and the risk, and everything their minds told them. She smiled. They were worth it, for each other. She patted his earlier note in her pocket, remembering the agonizing hours she spent waiting for the right time to meet him. The weeks, months that they'd been writing, learning about each other. Confiding in each other.

Moments later, she crossed into the Gryffindor common room. Harry was still up, playing a game of Wizard's Chess against himself. The room was almost empty, otherwise.

"'Mione... thought you'd gone missing. Ron went down to grab a book for me from the library, lost a bet... said you weren't there."

Right. She'd told them that's where she was going. "I stepped out for a moment. Quick walk. The snow stopped, it wasn't too cold."

He waved her over and she sat close beside him. The feeling of sitting next to Harry was entirely different than that of sitting beside Draco. Harry was her best friend, practically her sibling. Draco was so much more than that...

"Distracted?" She'd been staring into the fire, remembering another one she'd been near recently.

"Yes."

He poked her side, causing her to yelp. And again. He tickled her ribcage, making it hard for her to remain quiet while others might be sleeping. After trying and failing to roll away, she felt Harry retreat. She laughed for a moment before regaining composure and sitting up. In Harry's hand was a small piece of parchment - she patted her pocket.

_No._

"Is this..." He raised an eyebrow.

She nodded. He knew. They'd met.

"I thought you said you weren't meeting him face to face? That it was only letters, just friendship and..."

"I know what I said, Harry. Clearly, that got thrown out the window. Can I have that back?"

He glanced at it once more through his glasses, as if reading it once more to retain the information.

"You've met him."

"Twice. Once to confirm we knew who the other was. Tonight... to see each other."

"Is this really a good idea?"

"Probably not."

"Are you going to go through with it anyway?"

"Yes."

Harry rolled his eyes, and it was as if she could read his mind. _So much for responsible._

"So who's the lucky guy?"

"I shouldn't tell you." She could feel her cheeks flushing. Oh, this could be bad.

"Why ever not? I'm your best friend."

"Yes, Harry, but it's still so new, and I just don't... I don't want anything getting out of control before we can even start."

"I'd say it's already a little out of control."

 _If only he knew._ "Yes, well, you know me then, _best friend,_ I can get things back under control. It's something I'm rather good at."

"Especially after cleaning up my messes... right." He smiled, but it was weak. He was still worried for her, but she could tell there was some relief too. Not Riddle's Diary. No, this could be much worse.

"Harry, I... I will tell you. When the time is right. But this can't be it. Nobody knows, nobody knows about the letters but you and Ron, you're now the only person who knows we've met, and nobody knows who we are. It's okay that way, for now, we're not ready to make any mad declarations. We're just... seeing how things go." _And if we can pull this off without getting ourselves killed._

"I'll trust you, then. But I want to know, and soon."

Hermione smiled, glad Harry could see she had her reasons. "You'll be the first to know. But likely not until year's end. There's just too much at stake."

He nodded, getting up to join Ron, who had poked his head around the corner. Hermione, alone with her thoughts, relived the hours previous. She was scared, yes, for both of them. But she could have refused to meet him by the time she knew who he was. She could have denied it, if he'd asked. She could have been safe.

But was safe really better than happy? She thought not.

* * *

There was no messenger, no secret. This time there was only a carefully orchestrated collision, a scrap of parchment, and a hastily written message.

He'd read the letter from his mother the night previous. She was worried about him, worried he couldn't complete the task he was given. She was right - as mothers usually are - and his own thoughts were written by her hand, it seemed. That he felt kinship with his headmaster. That his alliances might be slipping. That there might be distractions.

At the end of her sympathy was an order, likely funneled through by his father. _Watch Potter and his two friends. Report their actions to us immediately. Look for anything suspicious. We needed another set of eyes in the castle, another young set. We'll be waiting._

It was signed with her perfect signature, and Draco sighed. His mother, at least, was not like his father. Though also demanding and at times aloof, she was first to understand that Draco was sixteen, not yet a mature adult, and not ready to kill anyone at all. His pretenses at school were hard enough, and now with the Hermione things...

 _Hermione._ He was supposed to be watching her, reporting their actions. But of course, there was no way he'd do that. He'd have to come up with something else, then. But he'd have to warn her first.

He'd penned a quick note - _change of plans, our room, midnight, urgent_ \- and crumpled it into a small ball. He knew he'd walk past her on their way to Potions, he'd have to find a way to slip it to her then.

The opportunity came just before class started - she was walking in on time, as usual, when Draco pretended to forget his ink - the vial he'd so carefully stashed in his pocket. He'd be able to walk in moments later, pretend he'd only just found it, and pretend like it had never happened. He saw her pushing through throngs of taller students, walking towards the doorway. He knocked into her shoulder, connecting their arms, their hands. He pushed the ball of parchment into the ball of her fist.

"Watch it, Granger."

She nodded, keeping her head low, but he caught the tiniest hint of a smile on her lips. She got the note. Now, he just had to wait to warn her.

* * *

"So, what then?" Her voice was low, shaky. His arm was snug around her, sitting side by side on the couch. They'd been talking for nearly an hour.

"I can't have anything to report, obviously. You saw the bit about another set of eyes - I think there's someone else watching, in the castle. If it were only me, I'd say it's not a problem... but another could be watching. Zabini. Snape, of course. Parkinson, or Crabbe or Goyle. Anyone. So we'll have to... we'll have to feed them what we can. We'll give them absolutely nothing."

"How? I just..."

"Keep from whispering between yourselves in the hallway. Crabbe's father sent us all small cameras, old types that'll work within the walls. we'll stage a few pictures. Just the few of you at a Quidditch match, between classes, at meals. Doing seemingly nothing."

"Will it work?"

"It's all we've got."

"You have to mention that of course, we have our common room... so there's no way you could get into there and see anything."

"That's right. That's perfect... I'll make sure to put that in. I'm supposed to send back what I can in a week or two, so we've got that long to make it look like absolutely nothing is happening."

"I think we can manage. Draco?"

"Hmm?"

"You realize... this is it, right? That you're through with the Death Eaters, with your family, with... all of them."

"I know. My mother... she's the only one I really care about, there. She's the only one who even tries to be nice to me."

"Yes, but... it would be risky..."

"I'll denounce my entire family if that's what it takes to keep you safe. My mother may be nice, but she still chose to be the wife of a Death Eater. That's her problem, now. I'm leaving."

"Your inheritance, everything..."

"To hell with it. I don't get anything anyway, it all gets distributed, as most of ours do. 'For the cause'. Yeah, for the Dark Lord."

Hermione sighed, leaning into his shoulder. That was it, then. Draco was really doing this. Switching sides. Choosing good. She wouldn't have believed it, if she didn't know personally that it was for her.


	16. Chapter 16

It was the first match for Gryffindor since the beginning of the year, and the house showed it. Eager to beat Hufflepuff, their least threatening rivals, the team and the rest of their students were clad head to toe in crimson and gold, shouting loudly over the bellow of the commentator. The score was nearly even, the match had just begun, but the excitement throughout the students in the mass of red seemed as if they were playing for the cup. Hermione, wrapped in a scarf and cap, red peacoat on over jeans and a sweater, was perhaps the loudest of them all - with good reason.

It wasn't just that her two best friends in the world were playing - though Ron seemed to be doing decently well, again. She could just spot Harry high above them all, looking around the field. Waiting. But it wasn't just the two of them playing a game today - Hermione was at the ready, also. She had a set of game plays devised carefully the night before between herself and Draco. He'd snap a picture of her whispering into Luna Lovegood's ear, or a picture of her looking smug. Later, in the halls, he'd get a picture of the three of them walking close together, whispering. It was all he could think of - a few shot's she'd know to get them all into, a letter telling his family it was the best he could do while they had the privacy of their common room, and that was that. Hopefully. Hermione caught a pair of steely eyes across the pitch and smirked. He tapped the small camera in his hands. She turned to Luna and her lion's head, whispered something, and saw a thumbs up. Though she couldn't tell if he were smiling or not, she didn't need to see it to be sure. She just knew.

Later, in the halls, she'd remember walking between Harry and Ron as a small camera flash went off behind them. It wasn't uncommon for students to carry cameras, so the boys would think nothing of it. Hermione, however, knew more. Her smile was between both Gryffindor winning the match, and knowing that Draco's staged shot would work perfectly.

* * *

_Must be very careful - Daddy's watching. Tomorrow is Valentine's Day. I was hoping you could meet me for the night. Our place, midnight._

He'd tucked the note, along with an extra copy of a shot from the match the day before, into a small parchment envelope. He'd run straight into her on their way to potions and dropped a small journal at her feet. She picked it up, the envelope already peeking out. The picture was perfect, taken just before the turn up to the stairs. She walked arm in arm with both Harry and Ron, both of them leaned close while she whispered something that no one else could have heard. The movement in the frame was perfect. Before she whispered something, she'd turned her head dramatically to 'make sure no one was eavesdropping'. Draco had snapped it at the perfect moment. They _did_ look rather suspicious.

She'd awoken this morning with an aching need to see him, to spend time with him. Though it had only been a few days, she found it more difficult to pass the time when she was seeing him in the halls, in classes, at meals. Knowing he was so close but that she couldn't even smile at him... it had been torture. It was nearing midnight now, though, and it seemed as if the time had been much shorter than she'd thought. Hermione rolled her eyes at herself from atop her four poster. She'd turned into such a desperate little thing, lately. He had such a strange effect on her.

She rose from her bed, letting down the silencing charm, at midnight exactly. She didn't want to be too early, and stopped off in front of a mirror in the common room to check her appearance before shaking her head. She looked the same as she always did. And he would be waiting. She knew the number of doors at the point, the exact countdown between her and Draco. The number went lower and lower in her head, give or take a few doors that liked to disappear and reappear in other places, until she knew she was just two away from the wide expanse of wall.

"I need to find the place where Draco waits for me..." On her third length down, the wall gave way to a door. She smiled. He'd been waiting, then.

What she saw inside was far from what she was expecting. Perhaps she'd thought she'd see the same room as before - plush couch, fireplace, little else. Instead she was greeted with the sort of scene girls her age would usually swoon over. There was a small table with white cloth set for two in the middle of the room. Enchanted candles floated throughout high-ceilinged room, making it seem as if the whole room was filled with a thousand bright stars. Two chairs sat on either side of the table, the fireplace held only a dim glow. Draco leaned against the wall nearest the door, smiling.

"Took a while to get the candles right."

Hermione felt herself flush. "This room's never been great with lighting. When we used it last year it threw a fit and we'd find ourselves in the dark if we had to have a meeting at night."

He beckoned to her, and she settled into his arms. It was so easy, when they were in this controlled little environment, to believe that this was all there would ever be - this table, this lighting, this man. He lead her to the table by her hand, pulling out her chair and then sitting in the one opposite her. With a wave of his wand, the center platter was filled with a small assortment of cheese, fruit, and chocolate, and her glass was filled with mead.

"How did you do all of this?"

"A little help here and there... mostly having a younger student pretend it was his idea for his girlfriend. The house elves would do it for him, but not for me. And he'd take care of it for a galleon or two..."

He smirked, and she swatted his arm. He'd done this the only way he knew how, and she didn't mind it. It was something she'd have to learn to deal with, and it wasn't anything bad, anyway.

They nibbled on cheese and crackers silently for a few moments until Hermione glanced up and saw him simply staring at her. Without a smile, it brought fear into her heart - but a smile rose, as she knew it would.

"Thinking about anything, Malfoy?"

"If you leave, I'll follow."

"So quick to make such a declaration..."

"Not quick, not really. We've been writing letters how long?"

She nodded, popping a sweet red grape into her mouth. He watched her intently before taking a sip of his own mead.

"Granger, I'd just... Hermione. I want you to remember that we'll always have this place. That if you ever need me, want to see me... just drop me a note somewhere. I'll meet you in an instant."

She nodded once more, not saying much. She knew he was telling the truth - and that was a bit startling. He'd be there no matter what, no matter when. The only other person who could claim that kind of dedication was Harry, and it had taken a while for both of them to be so comfortable with each other. After nearly an hour more of snacks appearing, animated chat between the two of them, and the embers from the fire dying down to just a warm glow, they sat side by side on the plush couch as they had before. Tonight, however, was different. He wasn't nervous about their physical proximity, and she found that she wasn't either. His arm was wrapped snug around her waist, and she was sitting so close to him she was practically in his lap. He seemed to notice the almost imperceptible flush on her cheeks and only held her tighter in silence. When the embers were finally dying and the two had spent nearly another hour simply existing together in silence, holding hands or making contented sighs, he faced her, touching his forehead to hers.

"I think we should be heading in... it's nearly two already. We have classes in the morning..."

"I know. I almost wish we didn't."

"But if you did, you wouldn't be you. He smiled, and she was suddenly aware of their lips being mere inches from each other. Perhaps that had been the plan, all along.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Hermione... wow, never thought I'd say that one." The two chuckled, and he brushed a lock of hair from her face.

This was it then, and whether or not she'd been ready, it was happening. His lips brushed hers just once before pressing in, and the final pairing of the two of them sent shivers down her spine. This, then, was what she'd been waiting for without realizing. His hand stayed on her cheek, his thumb brushing her high cheekbones. His mouth moved against hers in a way that was foreign and yet familiar to her - she'd been snogged a few times by Viktor or when she was practically stalked by McLaggen, but it had never been anything remotely close to this. His lips were warm against hers, not too wet, and the way he slowed down at the end was wonderful. He placed a last kiss on her lips, sealing their fate - whatever it would be. The candles were extinguished, the room left bare. Invisibly, he walked her back to the door to her common room, pausing to hug her quickly around a stone corner. The Fat Lady gave a knowing smirk before swinging open.

* * *

"What's that smile for then, Draco? Got something on your mind?" Pansy walked beside him, swishing her hips quite a bit more than necessary. She batted her lashes at him, cocking her head to one side. It was revolting, really.

"Yeah, something. Or someone."

"Who is it? Do I know her?"

"I'd think so."

"In our house?"

"No."

The hope that had grown on her face quickly deflated. It satisfied him to no end to deflate the little twat - she was incessant in her flirtation. She stayed silent throughout the rest of their little group's walk to Potions, unaware of the fact that the bushy head of hair in front of them - and the conversation happening - was what had him smiling. He could hear them only vaguely.

"Did you see him last night, then?" Potter was curious - but as he knew she would be, Hermione was stubborn.

"I did."

"And?"

"And it went wonderfully. You don't want details, I'm sure?"

Harry seemed to freeze in his tracks momentarily, and it took everything in Draco not to burst out laughing. Hermione must have heard the exchange between himself and Pansy, and this must have been just as funny for her as it was for him.

"No, I don't... not at all. Except maybe... who it was?"

"You know I'm not telling you that yet. Not for a long time, probably. There are... important things that need to be discussed."

"Cryptic."

"I try." She smiled and linked arms with him, but it did nothing to Draco - he knew Potter was simply her best friend.

* * *

Despite the nearly dreamy feeling he'd been floating on all day, Draco sat at a cubby in the library feeling particularly solemn. He knew that now that they'd made this little dedication to each other, that there were things he'd have to tell her. He had to tell her what had been entrusted to him, what he'd been ordered to do. He hoped with all of his heart that she'd understand that he didn't want to do it. That he only had to because he and his family would be killed, otherwise. She'd be devastated, of course, but he thought he might be able to use her thoughts and her intelligence to help him formulate a plan - a plan that would keep him from actually carrying out the duties.

_You-_

_I know we've had a really amazing time lately, and I'm so glad we've finally met. But there are a few things that I have to tell you, and you may hate me for them. I'll warn you now, read carefully - this letter is charmed to erase the words I've written one by one, as soon as you read them. You'll only be able to read it once, and then it'll be gone. We can talk later, if you have more questions._

_Eight months ago, my father was incarcerated, leaving my mother and myself alone. Since the Dark Lord has taken control of Azkaban, the Ministy, and let's face it - half of the wizarding world, my father has been released. On records, he appears to still reside at Azkaban, but he rests comfortably at Malfoy Manor with my mother, the Dark Lord, and countless Death Eaters. He's been orchestrating the whole thing as the Dark Lord's right hand, his chosen son, and it pains me to reveal to you the things that have transpired. Shortly before term began in the fall, I was called into the study. The Dark Lord was there with my parents, and he looked pretty pleased with himself._

_His voice seemed to tear holes in my flesh. I was already so against their cause that I despised simply hearing him speak. But he did, and the words he spoke next will change my entire life. I need you to read carefully, and please don't be alarmed - I do not intend to do as the Dark Lord has ordered. I will find another way. The Dark Lord told me all about his rivalry with Dumbledore, how despite the presence of a ministry or the Order, Dumbledore has always been his greatest opponent. They are matched evenly in power, he says. But not in strength. And while the Dark Lord seeks Dumbledore, he was unable to reach him, to destroy him. His intention has always been to destroy Dumbledore, but he has never been able to get himself or someone powerful enough into Hogwarts to kill him. Until I came back to school this year._

_He has sent me within these walls to kill Dumbledore. At the first moment, I resisted - but for less righteous reasons than I would now. I told him I couldn't, Dumbledore was too powerful, I'd surely be killed. He waved away my protests and dismissed me from the room. My mother later came into my room, tears streaming down her face, telling me that the Dark Lord would murder the three of us if I did not complete my task. She told me that no matter my reservations, I must follow his plan and succeed in some way, or I'd die anyway. I thought then that my only choice was to succeed - but I think I've found a loophole._

_Please, I beg of you, to keep a level head after I've told you this. I don't want it to change things between us, I only want to not have this responsibility so that I can get on with life. Meet me in our room tonight at eleven and we'll talk._

Even after sealing it and placing it in his potions book - one he'd pretend had been switched with hers so that he could safely deliver the letter - he knew that this would not go well. She'd never in a million years _not_ react drastically to news such as this. Their headmaster, her mentor and friend. And it was Draco's own duty to kill him.

He marched down to the dungeons, angry with himself for ever being born into the Malfoy family, for putting up with them this long. She'd probably hate him now - he should have told her sooner - but he'd have to wait until the following night, after he delivered this, to be able to defend himself. He didn't see how he could - even in his own mind, he felt guilty already.

* * *


	17. Chapter 17

He sifted through the stack of photographs in his hands. They were all perfect, really. A few shots at Quidditch matches, in the Great Hall, in hallways between classes. And every few instances, Hermione or Harry seemed to be leaning to one or the other, whispering, speaking in low tones. It was proof that Draco could send his father, proof that there was no real way he could spy on Potter and his friends. That they were too hard to catch. Had their common room. It would be all for naught, though, if Hermione reacted poorly to his last letter.

She would. He knew that. But he was hoping that she'd still see through to what he was really saying - that he had never intended to kill Dumbledore, that there were other ways, that he'd never wanted to. He hoped she remembered his confessions of love, of his real intentions to switch sides entirely and follow her and Potter and the Weasel in their quest to end the Dark Lord. He thought he may have figured out a loophole, a way to not have to do anything at all, but to save at least his mother and himself. His father could die, for all he cared. The man had never loved him or cared for him. Money was his only form of love, and no amount of gold could make Draco happy, really. The boy of his past was long gone. He just had to convince Hermione of this, too.

It was now well past eleven, and he was worried she wasn't going to show up. He'd passed her once more in the corridors, and sh'd had a hard look on her face, unyielding. She was highly upset, he could already tell that. He wasn't exactly looking forward to what she had to say...

As if on cue, the door opened and Hermione appeared in the frame, shutting it quietly behind her.

"Hermione, before you start..."

"Quiet. Please, just... shut up."

He did as he was told. She was livid, worse than he thought she'd be.

"You've been trusted by Voldemort himself to _kill Dumbledore._ A man who has never given up hope for you, even when the rest of the world had. The greatest wizard of our time - or any time, really. The best man that you or I will ever know. And yet you... you write me these letters and you prove you're different. Which is it? Death Eater? No... I never would have pegged you for that. Harry thinks so, and he's got his reasons, but I never thought you had the guts for it. But apparently someone thinks you do..."

"Hermione, please. I'm not going to, I never intended to, I've made that clear. I won't do it. I don't want to and I don't think it's right. I'm different, you know that. You should know me by now, with everything..."

"Prove it. Just... just prove this dodgy nonsense is really nonsense and we'll talk..."

He reached for his sleeves. He hadn't intended on showing her tonight, but she deserved to know. People had their suspicions, thought he was a Death Eater, that he'd taken his fathers place - but his forearms were bare. He hadn't been trusted with the Dark Mark. He hadn't been invited in. And yet he'd have been forced to kill Dumbledore without having what they called the 'privilege' of really being a Death Eater. That had been the first straw.

"It's... you're... I knew it. I knew you couldn't be. But that still doesn't..."

"It was the first straw. I'd always had my reserves, but when the Dark Lord ordered me to kill Dumbledore and wouldn't bequeath me with the Mark... I knew I wasn't trusted anyway. That my family was not as valued as it once had been. I knew from that moment on that I wouldn't - couldn't - do it. But there's another way..."

"What, have him kill your family? What about your mum, don't you still care about her?"

"I do. But it doesn't have to be that way, Snape..."

"What about him?"

"He took an oath. An Unbreakable Vow."

"I don't see what..."

"Hermione, if I don't do it, Snape will! My mother trusted him enough to do that for me. That if I couldn't do it in the end... rather than see me killed, Snape will kill Dumbledore and keep me safe."

"I'm not sure that's much better than facing Voldemort yourself..."

"It is. He'll do it, he has to. I'm not sure... he seemed... he spoke to me only once on the subject and he seemed like he didn't want to either, but I think he just didn't want to take the Vow. He values my mother's trust very much, knows she's still got a bit of a heart, realizes - realized - my potential... Hermione, I don't know details yet. I know I have to find a way to get Death Eaters into the castle - and I will. I have to. But I have to make it look like I still intend on killing Dumbledore in front of everyone else. Up until those last moments, and even afterwards, I have to act like I had every intention to. And I'll hope that'll be enough to save my mother and myself. After that... when things have calmed down... I'll run away, I'll have to. I'll find you, conceal myself. I've thought it all out, and it can work."

"Do you really, honestly think so?"

"I do. Yeah. I don't just think so, I know so. Because Hermione... I've said it in the letters and I'll say it now, I have completely fallen for you, heart and soul, and I will follow you to the ends of the earth no matter what it takes. I will _make_ it work."

She stepped in, leaning onto his chest. Her breath came quickly, shaking. His was the same. He was terrified, for both of them, but the voice in his head shouting above all else told him that what he said was true. He'd do it all, for her.

She stepped back, wiping her eyes. He offered a hankerchief and she took it, blowing her nose. "We can't save Dumbledore. I've only briefly spoken to him and even he knows his time is nearly up... he doesn't intend to die of old age, that's for sure..."

"He would want to leave in another way, yes. And he'll probably get the fight of his life..."

She smiled, but was not comforted. "I can't believe it. And it's going to be so hard not to tell anyone... and not to tell Harry. He's my best friend."

"One day he can know. But not now - definitely not yet." He drew up a sofa by the fire and they sat, knit close together. Having her curled into him made everything better. She didn't hate him - or if she did, she was forgiving him for it already. She knew he was telling the truth.

"Hermione, I... just in case. If anything goes wrong, then, or now... meet me in the center of the Courtyard. If you run into trouble, or if I do... if all hell breaks loose... we meet there."

"It's the best place. Room to run, if needed... to fight..."

"I can't believe we're even talking about this. Fighting on the same side."

"Especially now. Draco, I... I'm glad you told me. It's... devastating. And I'm still highly upset with you and the situation, nothing can change that. I just wish there were something I could do."

"There isn't. I've tried to think of something but... there's nothing."

After several long, tender moments - and a few chaste kisses - the pair rose, hugged, and left, with promise to meet again soon.

* * *

Hermione left feeling especially out of sorts. Knowing what she knew now... it was awful. But there was nothing she could do. She thought of what Dumbledore would do... but Dumbledore wouldn't have a child risk his life for Dumbledore's own. She knew that - and she knew that in some deep rooted way, Dumbledore saw potential in Draco. And she did, too...

"'Mione! Psst! Hey!"

She whipped her head around to see Ron waving at her from down the hallway, looking confused.

"You're not on prefect duty tonight..."

"Of course not. But I had to return something to the library just before lights out and caught a couple of third years sneaking about... just getting back now..."

"Back from where? You're in a weird part of the castle for that..."

"From where they were. No matter. Any trouble?"

"Yeah, a first year got lost, on account of the stairs, had to help her back to her dormitory... and it's Ravenclaw, so I barely knew where it was as it is..."

"You're about to be off duty, though?"

"Yeah."

"We'll walk back together then."

A few minutes later, Ron cleared his throat.

"You weren't catching third years, Hermione."

She'd never been a good liar. "I was... how would you... Ron!"

"You wouldn't look at me straight. Were you out seeing him again? Harry told me he still doesn't know either..."

"It's none of your business! Either of you! And as my friends, you should respect that!" Her lips formed a tight line. She hated being like this with them, hiding this, but it was for the best - for now, at least.

"Fine... but you can't keep this a secret forever. We're just worried about you!"

"Worry about someone else. Or something else? How about classes, for once?"

Hermione took the last few steps ahead of Ron, climbed through the portrait hole, and walked right past Harry up the staircase to the girls dormitories. She thought she heard Ron and Harry bickering behind her, but she didn't stop to find out. How could she hide this from them much longer? And what if something happened?

* * *

The next day was spent unsuccessfully avoiding her best friend. Harry was in almost all of her classes, and as her best friend it was perfectly within his rights to bother her incessantly until she revealed who she was seeing. At least, that's what he seemed to think.

"Harry, please. We'll talk later."

"No. We talk now. I'm sick of worrying about you." He pulled her to the side quickly, before she could notice they were entering an empty classroom.

"Please, Harry, we've got class in five minutes..."

"And it'll take two to get there from here. So you've got three minutes."

"Harry, it's delicate... if you understood... and we've only just begun really seeing each other..."

"I worried enough at first when they were these mysterious letters - especially after Riddle's diary. But now? I'm curious, mostly, but I also feel like you don't trust me."

That had stung. "Of course I trust you, Harry, you're my best friend. And when the time is right..."

"When might that be? When he's already hurt you? Hurt your feelings? When something's already wrong? I want to know and as your best friend, I sort of deserve to know."

"Honestly, this is a bit far... you're my best friend but we need to really talk about this!"

"Talk about it with him, then. Tell him I need to know. Or... or for once, _I'll_ be the one tattling."

"You wouldn't dare!"

"You sneak out every few nights... I could accidentally let something slip to McGonagall during Transfiguration..."

"Fine! I'll speak with him tonight or tomorrow. And if he agrees... I'll tell you everything."

"Good. That's all I needed. We're playing a bit of a scrimmage against Slytherin this weekend, so if you could do it before then so I don't muck up and lose the match..."

Hermione was at first outraged, but upon seeing Harry's stifled grin, she relaxed. He was her best friend, and for the most part he was messing with her. He did care about her, and he _did_ deserve to know. She only had to find a way to break it to him without him going after Draco and killing him.

* * *

 _My best friend deserves to know._ They'd been working on a new charm between two pieces of parchment. If Hermione wrote on hers, the message would pop up on his until he'd read it, then they'd both disappear. And vice versa. Draco had checked it at breakfast, claiming it was a note from Snape, and had watched the ink disappear.

_He does. Meet at lunch. We'll talk._

Lunch had come quicker than he'd hoped. He knew this day would come, and thought it had been nearly a week since they'd last met, he and Hermione came together as if they'd never been apart. He hugged her tight, laced her fingers in his, and gave her a quick kiss that they both wished would have lasted longer.

"Harry's been breathing down my neck, he's worried... and he thinks you're a Death Eater."

"Well, that's no way to break it to him. 'Draco's not a Death Eater, but he's my boyfriend.' Yeah, the Golden Boy will love that."

"Are those the terms we're using now?"

He felt himself flush, but she laughed. "Yes. I suppose so."

"I like it. But back to Harry... is there a way we can show him you're not a Death Eater? Warm him up to the idea slowly?"

"Yeah. The practice match. Convenient we play each other first... get to beat each other senseless the rest of the year."

"But you'll be wearing robes..."

"Nah. Urquhart likes playing practices in plainclothes. But I'll wear a long sleeve and push it up if Harry's in view, so nobody else will see. Have to keep up pretenses..."

"That just might work... and then Harry will certainly want to talk about it later. I won't say a thing then, of course, but it'll help him with it eventually."

The pair parted, both dreading the day when Harry found out their dangerous little secret.

* * *

"What's on your agenda for the day, Harry?" Hermione bit off a bit of toast. It was Saturday.

It was a bright, crisp winter morning. And Harry knew exactly what Harry's plans were for the day - the practice match. The scrimmage and Draco's reveal.

"Scrimmage against Slytherin. Urquhart refuses to admit we booked the pitch before him, so we're playing against each other for practice."

"So you can flatten them again? Nice."

"Yeah. Looking forward to it. I'm assuming you'll be in the library, even with the weather..."

"Actually, I've got a little headache from reading so much last night. And the sun looks wonderful. I think I'll head out, watch for a bit... a few minutes, anyway..."

Harry grinned. "Great. You'll like this, if Malfoy tries to sneak up again and fake me out, I'll run his arse into the ground... stupid Death Eater."

"Harry, don't go calling people names..."

"How are you so sure, then, that he's not?"

Hermione laughed, but she could tell it was a little forced. Harry, pleased, didn't seem to notice. They took to the pitch after breakfast and a quick change of clothes, and as they reached the edge, Hermione was just barely able to make eye contact with Draco. Even for a moment, it was all that mattered. She grinned, and Harry was none the wiser.

Half an hour later, Draco had done exactly what Harry had thought he would. Hermione laughed, realizing the two were a little more alike than she'd have originally thought. Stubborn, fierce competitors. Draco tumbled to the ground, not having pulled out of his dive soon enough, and the teams paused and hit the ground. While most other team members were arguing whether or not Draco had hit Harry, Draco stepped closer to Harry. Hermione couldn't hear a thing, but could see the two of them making faces and making what appeared to be snide comments to the other. Boys and their sports...

In a flash, he'd done it. Draco stepped forward and raised his arm like he was going to hit Harry, shoving his left sleeve up to his elbow - the other teammates wouldn't have noticed from their angles, but Harry's eyes were drawn directly to the skin. As if Draco hadn't done it intentionally, he quickly pulled his sleeve down and mounted his broom, shouting at the other players.

"It's not a real match, don't bother with their cheating. I didn't hit anyone, let's _go_. "

They reluctantly seemed to obey, and the match started again. Hermione stood to leave, figuring she'd wait in the common room for Harry and his outburst of 'news'. On her way out from the pitch, she could have sworn she felt a set of eyes burning into her...

* * *

"I saw it myself, Ron! His left forearm, clear as day. Bare as a baby."

"Harry, you couldn't have, they were all wearing sleeves, it's freezing... I told you we didn't think he was, but you wouldn't listen. Now you're just admitting it!"

"Ron, I... Hermione, you must have seen!"

"Seen what?"

They'd only just stumbled into the common room, dragging wet snow in on their boots, but Harry had started shouting it at Ron as soon as the portrait of the Fat Lady had swung shut behind them.

"Draco's forearms. Bare."

"I saw when he went to hit you... really Harry, it's not worth fighting over."

"But it was... ugh! I wish you two saw this like I see it."

"Of course we do, mate." Ron was sneaking a bit of cake from his pocket, likely picked up on their way up to the tower. "But we've known all along. We didn't think he'd really have the mark..." He ruffled Harry's hair and walked in the direction of the boys dorms. Harry stayed.

"I said it this morning. That he was a Death Eater. Asked you how you knew he wasn't. You didn't answer. You're an awful liar to begin with, Hermione..."

"And what?"

"And if it's not a big deal, how did you know? You seemed so sure that he wasn't a Death Eater, and at first it was you brushing the idea off with Ron. That was all. But now you're so... so sure."

"I... I saw it in Potions."

"Really? So you're telling me that from across a dark, crowded dungeon classroom full of fumes, you saw Draco Malfoy expose his protected left forearm, and nobody else did?"

"Harry, I..."

"Is it him? Just... Hermione!"

Silence. She could barely breathe. This was not supposed to happen, not now, not like this, he'd hate her...

"Hermione, has Draco been writing you those letters? Is that who you've been meeting?"

Her tears confirmed it. She stood, sprinting to the girls staircase. She may have to avoid Harry for the rest of the day, but perhaps it would save her some of this mortification and worry that he'd never speak to her again.


	18. Chapter 18

"There she is... Hermione, wait!" Harry stood up from a couch by the fire, immediately attempting to rush towards her. The common room, however, was so busy he couldn't get through. As March began, a fierce storm had gripped the castle and all of its inhabitants were bundled up, drinking anything hot, and trying their best to stay warm. It wasn't easy. Hermione, however, had spent the whole of her Saturday morning in bed, wrapped up in her covers. She hadn't spoken to Harry since the night before last, when he'd asked her if Draco had been sending the letters. She'd never responded, she knew he suspected, and she'd run upstairs before he had a chance to say anything. He had to be furious, she was sure of that. As far as Harry had been concerned as of last week, Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater bent on being cruel and torturing them out of their wits. Only due to their little stunt at the practice match had Harry finally been proven wrong about Draco as a Death Eater - but his opinion of the man couldn't have changed that drastically just because of that. He was still Draco, he had still tormented the trio over the last five and a half years, and he was still mean to them and others whenever possible in the halls. Harry had no idea it was all a ruse, it was all just to keep up pretenses so that nobody would suspect Draco's changed alliances, or his true nature. Or, of course, that he'd been seeing Hermione in private. That too.

Hermione glanced over to make sure Harry didn't have a clear path to her, but he was surrounded by fellow Gryffindors celebrating Ron's birthday. She climbed through the portrait hole as quickly as possible, and headed straight for the Great Hall. Harry would think she'd gone to the library, but she'd planned on that happening and had chosen a different place to study. As fate had it, so had a few of the Slytherins... and while Draco might sit at the far table and feign cruelty, she knew he'd be thinking of their long, slow kiss the night before, or of the first night they'd met in person after all of the letters, or of the way that, even after she'd found out about his assigned task, she still loved him.

It was a lousy situation - a sort of boyfriend who had to pretend to hate her in front of everyone they knew, a deep secret, and now having to avoid her best friend at all costs because he just might know everything.

She shuddered, thinking of what a mess her life had become since that first letter. But it was all worth it...

* * *

Draco smirked, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle and across from Pansy and Blaise. The group, along with a few others, had retreated to the Great Hall to study on their last night of the weekend. He'd gotten away with not having to say a single cruel thing about Hermione, who was just across the hall separated by two other tables and a few other small groups. While she was surrounded by books, pulling strands of her soft hair back over her shoulder, his crew was more focused on trickery and harsh words.

It was no matter. In a matter of months, he would know what to do. The war would come, one way or another, and the few around him along with those back home would have a really nasty shock when Draco didn't return home to them...

He watched her bite her lip in concentration across the space. She turned her head to the side, glancing up to see him, just for a second. He could barely make out the smile on her face, there if only for an instant. It took everything in him not to go see her. Instead, he listened idly to Blaise's commentary on a group of third years he'd gotten in trouble the afternoon before, and kept his eyes trained on what could be mistaken for the far wall, but was actually Hermione Granger and that lip of hers...

Her flushed cheeks were something he thought he would want to see more often. He liked Hermione - possibly loved her, actually. And was prepared to prove it. But if one big thing had changed between them, it was attraction. He noticed the curve and dip of her hip and waist, her long slender fingers, flawless skin, and the swell of her chest. She was good looking even in the thick, layered sweater she wore now. Draco, feigning boredom, rose.

"If you'll all excuse me, I'm tired of the gossip. I've got more important things to attend to..." He rose from the table, though his 'friends' begged otherwise, and walked towards the door. Hermione glanced up to see him, and he hoped she got his tiny gesture of the hand. He pointed upwards, seemingly to the ceiling, but what she might know as a signal to meet at their room. He climbed the stairs, took a few turns, and opened the door in one try. Their usual setup was there - couch by the fire, small table behind it. Small, dim, but cozy.

He only waited twenty minutes before she showed up.

"I just put my books down... couldn't leave right after you, that could have seemed odd..."

"That was quick, though. I hoped you'd get what I meant." His hands grabbed her shoulders and he brushed his lips across her forehead lightly, pressing down twice for good measure.

"I almost didn't even look up. But I barely saw your hand as you left, I only thought of how long I'd have to wait before I could get up there. Harry wasn't in the common room, I didn't have to face him..."

"So you told him?"

"Not really. Sort of. I mean... I was going to."

"I thought he deserved to know, that he could keep the secret?"

"He does. And he will, I believe. I just... didn't tell him straight out. He was talking about the other day at the practice match, when you showed him your arm. I made an off comment about how I just knew you couldn't be a Death Eater... and all of the sudden it was like something connected, and he asked me how I had been so certain you hadn't been. I couldn't answer him, and I ran out, and..."

"Was Weasley around?"

"Which one?"

"Either of them!"

"Neither. Ron had gone upstairs, I have no idea where Ginny was... it was just Harry and I talking."

"Good. And we'll hope he hasn't said anything to Ron... but Hermione, you need to talk to him. He needs to understand that this cannot be talked about, or joked about. It's really, really important, it's..."

"I know, Draco. I know. I just... how do I tell my best friend I've been seeing his greatest enemy at school, in private, and that I've been lying to him for months?"

"You just come out with it, Hermione. You know what we have, and I think he knows well enough that you're happy... it may not be easy but he'll have to find out eventually."

She nodded, joining him on the couch for a moment. "I can't stay, then. I'll have to catch him before bed, or before he comes looking for me again... if he thought for even a moment that we were meeting here, which isn't a stretch for him, and he saw before I told him..."

"He'd go ballistic."

"Nuclear. He'd kill you, I'm sure of it."

"Really, Hermione? You think he would?"

"I think he'd try." She grinned. "He'd try really, really hard..."

"We can't tell him what I've been forced to do. If he knows that... it could ruin everything. You know he wouldn't be able to hold back, he'd tell everything, and he doesn't have any idea what could happen."

"I know. I feel like he deserves to know that too, but he couldn't... he couldn't bear it. I know him."

"Then we simply tell him... that it is me. That you've been seeing. And we'll discuss what more to tell him later. This will be enough of a shock for now. And Hermione?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you." He kissed her quickly.

"For what?"

"For believing in me, when literally no one else did. Death Eaters didn't believe I could complete the task, not even my mother believed I had the strength. Severus doesn't believe I will either. Nobody believes I have a drop of goodness in me. And nobody else thought me capable of love, probably not even you at first. But you know me better now, and..."

"Shh." She silenced him with another small kiss. "It's worth every bit. And I believe in you one hundred percent."

She rose, kissed him goodbye, and set off for the common room. As he watched the door shut behind her, he was suddenly struck with the fact that his feelings for Hermione Granger had changed so greatly and so vitally as to completely change him, for the good. And that despite his original opinion of her, he wouldn't give her up for the world.

* * *

She took a deep breath before climbing through the portrait hole again - the Fat Lady was growing impatient.

"Don't just stand there all day, I've got things to do, whatever it is, get on with it..."

"Fine, fine..." She stepped through, looking carefully around for Harry. She spotted his mess of dark hair at the moment he noticed her, and they walked towards each other.

"Hermione, I..."

"We should talk, Harry."

"We should, I guessed the other night but... Hermione..."

"Not here, please not here Harry. Can you go for a walk?"

"We've got a bit before curfew, yeah."

"Good. Let's go. I've got a lot to tell you..."

They left through where Hermione had just come from, and she immediately turned them towards a corridor full of empty classrooms. Two staircases and two right turns later, she threw open a door, ushered him inside, and cast a silencing charm on the door frame, as well as the bottom space between the floor.

"Harry, I've wanted to tell you for so long, I really have, I just wasn't completely sure for a while, and then I wasn't sure it would work at all..."

"Just tell me, is it him? Is it Draco Malfoy?"

She swallowed, hard, and with shaky breath, answered. "Yes."

She couldn't open her eyes, and she was glad she hadn't. Harry, in anger, had flipped over the desk nearest him and shouted as loud as he could.

"He's got to be tricking you, Hermione, I know you're smart but this is low, even for him, I can't even... how? When? How long? What's he been saying? What is he trying to get out of you? I need to know, I'm just worried about you..."

"Harry, please. If you sit, I'll tell you everything. But before I do that... I need you to promise. Promise me, Harry. That you trust me."

"Course I do. You're one of my best friends, Hermione. And I know you're smart enough. I just..."

"That's all I need to know. Shall I start at the beginning, then?"

Harry nodded, pulling out a chair and falling back into it. He did not look prepared, or happy, by all of this.

"It's been going on all year, really. It started with a sort of joke, to see if anyone read as many odd books as I did... I left it in a history book I think, one of my first ten. And he found it. He wrote back, and he seemed friendly, if a little confused. We wrote back and forth once or twice, using library books as post and hints. He confided in me first, really. Told me how afraid he was, everything about how he couldn't trust his family and friends. Before he even knew who I was, he was just looking for someone to really believe in him."

"You're saying he had no idea it was you?"

"He can't have. I made sure of that - I made our anonymity the utmost concern, and he obliged. At first. We started to trust each other, to talk about things and share things... from daily life to secrets. I told him how hurt I've been by Ron, but that I guess it wasn't meant to happen. We never mentioned names or houses, we only knew we were both in sixth year and both needed a friend! But when we figured out each others genders... it slowly grew into something more. He appreciated me, and my mind and soul, Harry... do you know what that's like, especially as a woman? To be loved and appreciated by a man, an amazing man, when he hasn't even seen your face? Or doesn't know if he has? I could have been Pansy, or, I could have... I could have been me. He joked one time and said that even if I were McGonagall, he'd still feel the same... and it just became _us,_ so slowly but so wonderfully. We wrote for five months, all the way through February, before it became too much. We might love each other, but it would be all for naught if at the end of the year, we couldn't speak, we couldn't see each other, we couldn't have a chance at something this wonderful, and Harry... I've never been so happy in my life!"

"You know you're speaking of the man you hit, right?"

"I do. I did."

"And that this is the bloke who has been horrible to you from day one?"

"That's not him anymore. It may have been him last year, and the start of this one as well... but there have been things that have changed him, Harry, I promise you that. Everything after that has been to keep up pretenses, so that nobody else knows what a drastic change has taken place in him."

"Wish we could have settled all this before he stomped on my nose... but what are you going to do? What's the big plan, then?"

"Let me finish. The night we first met, the first thing we knew was that we were in trouble. But we knew, no matter what, even knowing who we were... that it was worth it. Harry Potter you know me better than any person on this planet, even him, even my family... and you know that if I had even an inkling of doubt, that I wouldn't be going through with this."

Harry seemed to ponder the point for a moment, but in the end, he nodded. "I'm not happy with it. And I still don't really trust him. But I have seen you, Hermione, you're smiling all the time and you're studying less, you've changed, too. And I have to admit, the changes have been great to watch. You're happy."

"I am."

"Then that's all I can say. Except..."

Hermione raised a brow at him, curious as to his one exception.

"Except what?"

"I want to talk to him. I'm not saying I approve, not yet. Not even close. But before I keep this secret - as I know that's why you've taken me to a deserted classroom, placed silencing charms on the door, and told me everything after the fact - I need to talk to him. I need to see that he's changed, with my own eyes. I know he's up to something and I know he's been using the Room of Requirement, we both saw him. I need to speak with him and make sure you won't get hurt."

Hermione wasn't sure what to say. She knew Draco would do it, for her, but she also knew it wouldn't be easy for him, nor particularly pleasant.

"Yes. Okay. I'll... I'll talk to him. Tonight on duty. We cross paths twice, I'll tell him."

"Good. And Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"I just..." He stood, walking towards her. He hugged her close, allowing her head to rest on his chest, which shook with the uncertainty of his breath.

"I just wish you would have told me sooner. I was so scared..."

"Oh, Harry!" He held him closer, swaying there for just a moment. Harry hadn't exactly given his blessing, but he hadn't blown up. And he was going to speak to Draco and see how much he'd changed... she actually couldn't have imagined it going any better than it had. Not in any sort of reality. The pair separate, and walked back to the common room together before Prefect duty began for Hermione. At the portrait hole she hugged him goodbye, whispering that she'd set up a meeting for this week. He nodded, unsmiling, before waving and climbing through the portrait hole again.

Hermione turned in the opposite direction, walking as quickly as possible. She usually ran into Draco early on her route, walked the same hallway with him for two minutes, and was allowed that much privacy before they were joined by Hannah Abbott for the next corridor. The three would then all go their separate ways, and Hermione would see him once more during their second time around. If she hurried, like they usually did, she'd see him in a few minutes.

When he appeared around the corner, Hermione was immediately aware of the fact that Draco was not himself. His eyes were red and dilated, his hair was a mess, he couldn't focus.

"Draco... are you alright?"

"Fine, just... got a letter from my father, feeling a little sick is all..."

"You look awful, sorry to say. Your eyes are all red and..." She stepped closer and could hear his breathing - quick, shallow breaths, rattling around in his chest.

"Draco you're unwell, we really should get you to the hospital wing, this isn't just a cold or something..."

"I'm fine, Hermione... let's just keep walking."

She finally gave in, but every step he seemed to be getting worse and worse. On the eleventh step, he fell in a heap on the floor. Hannah, who was waiting for them at the far corner, shrieked and ran towards them.

"Hannah! Turn around! Go to the Hospital Wing, have Madam Pomfrey meet us halfway... I think he's been poisoned. Run!"

Hannah obeyed and sprinted off in the other direction. Hermione used _levicorpus_ and walked as fast as she could while pulling Draco along with her wand. He had all the symptoms of poisoning, she'd just heard Ron and Harry talk about it a few nights previous... this had to be mild though, as he wasn't dead. She hoped he wouldn't be. She picked up the pace, slowing only when she saw that Draco's limp form couldn't keep up with her at a run. When they were finally met with the Nurse and Hannah, the three of them together were able to rush him to the other side of the castle.

* * *

Hannah had been sent off being told only that she could not tell a soul about what had happened that night. She had agreed, bless her, and Hermione was relieved. The last thing she needed was anyone connecting her name and Draco's, and in moments Hermione was left alone with Draco, who had already been given an antidote to whatever had ailed him. There was only one other person in the Hospital Wing, a first year Gryffindor who appeared to be fast asleep, a cast on her arm. Flying lessons would have happened today...

"Mild poison powder... whoever did this will be expelled for sure. Miss Granger, was anyone else around when you found Mister Malfoy?"

Her hand was laced in his, and she had to turn her back to hide this fact. "No, there wasn't. He had said he'd gotten a..."

But before she could finish, she felt Draco squeeze her hand hard enough that she got the point. "He said he'd gotten a cold. That was all."

"Well this is much worse than that, you can tell. I'm afraid he'll just have to wait through the night. You're free to go." With that, Poppy Pomfrey turned out the lights and retreated to her quarters. Hermione did not resting her head on Draco's chest.

"You're awake?"

"Barely. I feel so weak..."

"You said you'd gotten a letter from my father."

"I did. He's done it before but milder, it's an intimidation tactic... makes me really sick when he's trying to get me to do something, just that little extra bit of love and 'I'll kill you if I have to, boy.'" Hermione could hear the bitter laugh in his whisper. "He must have used too much, if I'd have actually died his head would be on it, their one way into Hogwarts, dead..."

"But you're not dead. You're fine."

"I feel awful."

"But you're alive."

"Details, details..." He patted her head with his free hand. "You can go up to your dormitory if you'd like. The other one here appears to be sleeping, but as my... fellow prefect, I should suggest bed."

"I'll stay for a moment more. To make sure my... fellow prefect... is alright." She grinned at him through the semi-darkness, and he smiled, closing his eyes.

In the last moments that Hermione decided to stay, she felt her eyelids getting awfully tired. Well, nobody would find her anyway, and she wanted to stay with Draco to make sure he was okay, anyway..."

She was asleep before she could convince herself that it was an awful idea - they could be seen, and that could end it all.

* * *

"Harry? Harry Potter?"

It was a small voice behind him, and Harry hadn't been expecting it. He whirled around to see a small first year girl with blonde hair, her face flushed.

"Yeah?"

"I was, um, in the Hospital Wing last night because I broke my arm, and I saw your friend Hermione Granger in there."

"What's... what's Hermione doing in the Hospital Wing? Is she alright?"

"She's okay, I think, but, um, she was there with Draco Malfoy, I don't really understand why..."

Harry could feel the blood drain from his face. Had something happened to Draco? And why had Hermione risked being seen to stay with him? She knew how important it was to keep the secret...

"What's your name, then?"

"Holly. Holly Mason."

"Holly, I'll tell you what. Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy are prefects together. They may not be good friends, but they have that. Do you get what I'm saying?"

"I think so."

"Right. Well they're clearly not good friends, and I'm sure neither of them would like it if people started talking about it... so how's about this: we'll keep this our little secret, okay?"

"Secret?"

"Yeah. Please don't tell your friends, or... or anything. Because it's nothing."

The girl looked suspicious. "Are you sure it's nothing?"

"Completely. She's my best friend. And if you keep this secret... it'll really mean a lot to me. And to Hermione, too."

"It would?"

"Loads."

"I guess, then. Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"My parents told me how you got that scar. I'm sorry." She nodded and left, leaving Harry more than a little bewildered - first at the idea that an eleven year old had the courtesy to only say she was sorry and not get pushy. Secondly at the fact that she had come to him first, seemingly knowing that there was something wrong with Hermione being in the Hospital Wing with Draco.

Third, why were they there to begin with? It wasn't even seven, most people hadn't left their dormitories yet, and he'd been wondering why he hadn't seen Hermione - she was habitually an early riser...

He took off at a run, hoping to get to the Hospital Wing before anyone else did. As much as he didn't fully approve of their relationship, he knew the danger they would both be in if they were discovered. If he could get there before breakfast, he could get there before anyone might wake up with a stomach ache and decide to head over... he reached the door just in time. There was a small group of Ravenclaw boys outside, and one reached for the door. Harry blew past them, shook Hermione awake, and had her standing on the other side of the room by the time they had regained themselves and opened the door again.

"Hermione... feeling better?" Harry raised his eyebrows at her. She looked puzzled at first, but quickly caught on.

"Yeah, loads... just a migraine, I think... thanks for coming to get me, I would have slept through breakfast... I should go then." She took Harry's arm, walking out of the room as quickly as possible.

"Did any of them see me?"

"No, they didn't see you sleeping across half of Draco's bed. And good thing, too..."

"Harry I can't thank you enough... how did you know?"

"There was a girl in here last night with you. She woke up early this morning and came back in... she found me first. I made her promise not to tell anyone what she'd seen. I think I only got away with it because I'm me..."

"At least we've got that, then. Thank you, Harry. I know you don't approve fully yet but..."

"But I know what it could mean, if people knew. It could be extremely dangerous. Hermione, are you sure this is what you want?"

She only nodded, gripping his arm tighter. She'd have to explain to Draco how she'd fallen asleep and how Harry had saved them both. But for now, she was just barely relieved enough to be hungry, and she'd have to eat quickly if she didn't want to be late for class.


	19. Chapter 19

Right down the middle of March, a part in the clouds allowed a fair amount of sunlight to shine over the students and staff at Hogwarts school. Though they were a bit weary, dozens soon began walking, doubtful, out of the castle and out onto the soggy green grounds, where they were pleasantly surprised to see the bluest sky any of them had witnessed since the previous fall - and on their day off from classes, to boot. Warmth seemed to metaphorically thaw the winter chill inside them all, allowing them to remove their heavy winter cloaks and sweaters and relax under trees and by the lake in their simple white shirts and dark bottoms. Harry and Ron, along with a few hodge podge other Quidditch players, were having an impromptu scrimmage match against each other, whipping their brooms along in the warm air. Hermione Granger sat by herself in the stands, though there were many others watching. She didn't want to be bothered with conversation now - and 'watching the match' was as good excuse as any. In truth, Hermione would have stayed in the castle all day, if she'd had a choice. But after Draco's decision to use this time to enter the Room of Requirement and work without people around to see him and be suspicious, he had insisted she go outside and enjoy herself. Just that morning, he'd met her in the Room of Requirement for just ten minutes after breakfast. This time the room had been empty, but she knew that once she left he'd leave with her, turn around, and turn in back into the room where things were hidden...

_"I can stay. I know it's not right but... maybe we can figure this out, I'm sure fixing the cabinets will keep you safer, and I want to..."_

_"Hermione, listen to yourself. Even you don't really want to. A great puzzle... but you know what happens when it's solved. That's not something you want to do."_

_"What I want to do is keep you safe! Healthy! Keep you from getting poisoned again by your own father!" She brought up her hand, pinching the bridge of her nose. Didn't he understand that she'd do whatever it took to help?_

_"I know, I do. But... as much as you want to help me, I think there are better ways than this. You help me enough just by existing, Hermione, just by the fact that for a whole month now I've known who you are and you've known exactly who I am and what you mean to me. That's a hundred thousand times more help than I had when I came into this."_

_She scowled, but secretly knew there might be some truth behind it. "Just a few minutes. Let me see it..."_

_"I don't want this on your conscience. Think about it, Hermione. Do you really want to go through life knowing that, no matter what happens between us, that you helped fix the doorway between the outside world and Hogwarts? That you helped let in the people who killed Dumbledore? Or who may kill others? That's something I have already been burdened with. I am forced into it. There's a choice, where you're concerned, and I can't let it be yours to make. I'm sorry."_

_She had thought about it that way, of course, but it sounded even more important when he said it. Her conscience. This whole thing was bad enough as it is, she couldn't bear to think that she might... that she could..._

_"Fine. After Lunch, I'll return here. You should be waiting with the other room ready... I'll stop by again like this and then head out again with everyone else. But I don't like it."_

He had simply kissed her forehead and sent her on her way. She knew, after hours of thinking and their lunch meeting, that he was right. Now the final meal of the day was approaching and Hermione feared in jest that Draco might never return from the room of requirement. She knew that he had to try desperately to get the cabinets to work, but he was acting a bit weird about it and she wanted to know why.

* * *

He'd had nightmares, lately. More than he could count. Ones where he was captured, where Hermione was caught with him, and either way they both ended up dead or tortured. The worst part, of course, was knowing that whatever happened in his nightmares was not out of the question. His own father, and Voldemort, and the remaining Death Eaters would kill them both where they stood if their secret was discovered.

No matter what happened, until this little scheme was over, he could not let anyone find out about himself and Hermione. He'd been honest with her, of course, about what might happen after this year. If they left, Draco would leave with them. If they stayed, he would do that as well. He needed only to finish this final task for his father and all of his old cronies, then he'd find a way to escape this life of blood and lies once and for all. It was worse for her, in her position. Potter was needed alive, so that Voldemort could face him personally. And he would, in time. But Hermione was nothing to his father's friends, a pawn. She'd be killed on the spot just for showing up.

If Draco had any more thoughts on the matter, they were rudely interrupted by his stomach twisting into knots. The poison had been wearing off all day, but was still not fully out of his system. Whenever he worked too hard, whenever he used his wand with a little too much flick of the wrist - he lost whatever was left in his stomach. This time, as he leaned over a pile of rotting old textbooks, there was nothing but half a mouthful of bile, which he promptly spat out into a bucket he'd summoned earlier that day. He'd had to charm it to keep the smell down, but any time he got too close he could still smell the awful smell of his own sick, caused by his own father.

McGonagall had been on his case at each meal. She wouldn't find him between then, nobody could, but she had pulled him aside at each of the three meals to ask him if he knew who had poisoned him. He wouldn't answer her, couldn't - but some part of him saw, in her face, a sort of distanced care for Draco himself, and a hint of understanding. She knew his parents were not the best of people, and she as well as everyone else knew that Draco's father wasn't the best role model for raising children. He wouldn't - couldn't - give in, though. Just a couple of short months from now he'd be free, and it would be a bigger slap in the face to his father than ratting him out now for escaping Azkaban with the rest of them and for sending poison powder to him.

Draco returned to the cabinet, testing a few more charms on it before bedtime. Something, eventually, would make this work. Something would save him, and Hermione by connection. And yes, it would cause more damage than good at first. He knew that. So did she. But it had to be done, and he would do it. For both of them.

* * *

Harry had given Hermione a small slip of parchment with a date and time. _Give this to him._ She'd tell Draco to meet at the Room of Requirement. Draco was set to arrive in five minutes or less, and Harry still had no idea what he was going to ask him. What could you ask a former enemy to help convince yourself that they had changed sides? How could he possibly know whether or not he could really trust Draco? He'd soon find out - the door in the far wall opened just enough for a tall, slim boy with light hair to slip through.

"You're late."

"You're early. Who's counting?" Draco almost grinned, as did Harry. This was a strange enough situation for the both of them. Harry gestured to a small table and chairs the room had conjured for him for their meeting. Draco sat, eyeing Harry curiously. Why had he wanted to talk? What was there to say?

"I suppose I should start, Draco, with this. How long did you honestly know it was Hermione before you met face to face?"

"Honestly? I was never sure. I had my suspicions - we'd pass each other sometimes, or she was in a good mood or bad mood when I'd seen her act the same in class. But a part of me... yes, a part of me was drawn to her, and hoping it was her."

"Why? Why her, you've made fun of her for years, and..."

"And I was hoping that perhaps she'd be like me."

"Cruel? Irresponsible? Tactless?"

"No, no. And honestly Potter, you can stop the defensive act. If you want honest answers with respect, you should treat me with respect also. I think, given the current arrangement, that it's not too much to ask."

Harry only nodded, letting Draco continue.

"I was hoping that perhaps she'd be like me in the way that what everyone else saw, and what everyone else thought about us, was wrong. Hermione plays the solitary bookworm but reserves her true spirit to only her best friends, and now myself. She's feisty and funny and much less haughty than she seems. I've put out the image of a Death Eater's son and it is believable, but not entirely myself. I am the son of a Death Eater but I am not one myself, as you now know."

"The match... I saw your arm."

"Yes, Potter. That was carefully orchestrated by Hermione and myself. Would you have reacted differently, when she told you, if you'd still thought I was a Death Eater?"

Harry nodded. He hadn't yet thought of it that way, but now he could see the reasoning behind some of Hermione's actions over the last months.

"Next question. I'm sure you have more."

"Hermione tells me that you've said you'd follow her. That whatever happened after this year, that you would cast aside your entire family for her."

"I have little real family left, Potter. My parents are the last remaining pair that keep in contact with me, and while my mother has never been directly cruel, she has always been subservient to my father. And my father is a horrible man, you know that. You know what he has done, and I assure you that he's done more than that. Hermione told me you saved her from being seen in the Hospital wing."

"She told me you'd been ill. I didn't believe that. I figured, with how she usually is... that she just knew it wasn't her news to tell."

"She was right, on that front. My father sent me a letter full of threats - they're trying to get me to do something I don't necessarily want to do. And inside the envelope was a heavy-handed dose of a mild poison powder. He knew it would not kill me, but he knew it would make me very ill, and cause much pain."

"Your own father? That's low, even for Lucius..."

Draco's eyes flashed a deeper gray. "You have no idea what low is for my father. That sort of trick is fun and games, for him. That's a laugh, poisoning his son."

There was a moment's silence between them. Harry cleared his throat. "Back to... the following. I trust Hermione has told you a bit, maybe some you don't already know?"

"She hinted at the prophecy - not that my father and his friends didn't already suspect it was something like that. And she says that you're most important. That whoever decides to stay or go, she's following you, helping you."

"I don't know if I can let her do that. She has no idea..."

"Potter, who was with you last year in the Department of Mysteries? Who has been fighting by your side during every confrontation? Hermione. Ron has spent weeks acting like a total prat to the two of you, but Hermione has never left your side. She'll refuse to do anything _but_ follow you. And if you must know, I love her enough to follow her. So yes. I'll be seeing more of you." Draco winked, and Harry nearly smiled. Draco's humor, when not directed at his or his friend's flaws, wasn't terrible.

"You can't possibly know what that might mean, Malfoy... not even I know that, yet. It's difficult to think about."

"But I'm still committing. Has she shown you any of the letters?"

"No. She's still having a hard time knowing that I know who you are."

"I don't doubt it. Just... if she ever lets you, take the chance. You'll see I'm not the man I've been acting like all these years."

Harry nodded, standing. He still wasn't sure he fully trusted Draco, but there were only a few minutes left before curfew. Draco remained sitting, breathing heavily, before he spoke.

"Do you know what true fear is, Potter? The true fear of loss? I assume you must, losing Sirius Black last year."

Sirius's name put a wrench in Harry's heart. He nodded. Draco sighed.

"I worry every day that that could happen to her. That's fear - not being afraid for your own life, but knowing that the only person you've ever really, _really_ connected with - that there are people that want to rip the two of you apart."

"Yeah, I guess."

"It's worse with Hermione - because it's not a 'what would happen if we got caught?' sort of situation. I know what would happen. Because of the prophecy, Potter, you have to live until something happens with the Dark Lord. Hermione doesn't have the same protection. She's a pawn in this battle, and there's a horde of Death Eaters who would love to torture her into madness and then kill her. And if what is happening between us is ever discovered, they'll do it all in front of me and make me watch. I have nightmares, ones where I see her bleeding, still, tortured. I wake up sweating, screaming. I've had to put a silencing charm on my four poster.

"Worst of all is knowing that all these nightmares, all of this fear, will continue until you win. You will defeat the Dark Lord, I think we all know that. He's too proud to ever act or admit it, but his dueling strength lies only in power, not in strategy. And you've gotten lucky before. It's all I can do to hold onto the fact that you will win, and that until then, I'd abandon everyone else I know to follow Hermione with you. If there's a war to be had, Harry - and I'm sure there is - we're on the same side."

Harry was stunned, at this. He hadn't expected more out of Draco after he stood, but it seemed that the most important part of their conversation had happened after Harry had thought it was already over. Not only was Draco planning on following them until a final duel or battle happened, but he had complete faith and hope that Harry would triumph. Draco stood, offered his hand to Harry - who took it, shook it hard just once, and left the room in silence, sure he would be thinking about those words in days and weeks and months to come.

* * *

"How was... everything? Harry wouldn't talk about it much." Hermione was nestled in beside Draco on their usual couch in the room of requirement, a dull glow emitting from the coals left of a fire that they had watched in silence for some time. She had sensed that Draco was on edge, following his talk with Harry the night before.

"I told him everything. And then some."

"And do you think he... what happened?"

"I don't think, at first, that much changed. But I think I told him something that might change his mind a bit. He should... he should be easier to talk to about me from now on."

"What did you have to say to him?"

"I'd rather not talk about it. I told him how important you are to me and what I have promised. The details are trivial, between the two of us, but I had to say some things to put it in Harry's perspective."

Hermione didn't dare ask what Draco had had to say - if it was enough that he wouldn't share with her, it must have been something big. It wasn't anything bad - Harry would have told her straightaway if Draco had done anything to upset him, of course. But it had to be enough to change his mind.

Draco checked his watch. "It's nearly time for bed. I've got an essay to finish before class tomorrow..."

"Well it was nice getting to see you, only if for a little while." She smiled briefly, reaching up on her toes to give him a quick kiss. She walked towards the door. "I'll leave first, I've got some things to do too and I have to stop by the library before curfew."

"Wait." Draco turned, rummaging around in his book bag. "I have something for you."

Hermione walked slowly back to him, seeing a parchment-wrapped package in his hand, tied with a bit of string.

"Hermione I've said it before... this is incredibly dangerous. And it would be moreso if anyone ever found us out. Anyone at all. I can't trust my dorm mates anymore, I think they know something is happening with me and I can risk them finding this."

"What... are these the letters?"

She slipped the string and parchment aside to confirm it.

"Yes. Every single letter you ever wrote me. And it actually physically pains me to part with them... I read them when I need a little boost, y'know? But if someone ever found us out... I don't have to wonder, I know. You'd be killed. Brutally. In front of me. And I can't risk harming a hair on your head. So I'm... I'm giving you these, just to hold onto, until everything has been figured out. Until after everything happens."

He was getting a bit choked up. He couldn't remember the last time he felt... sad.

"Hermione, just know that I love you, more than anything else... and I'm just scared."

She took the remaining two steps back to him, setting the box on the table behind him before wrapping her arms around him and holding on tight. That was, of course, the one thing she hoped she'd always be able to do - through the dark, through the storms, through the battles and the hard times - just to hold onto him, whenever she thought she might sink with the weight of it all.


	20. Chapter 20

"Hermione, wait up!"

She turned quickly, perhaps too much so, and almost stumbled over. Harry was a few dozen steps behind her, waving at her to slow down. She hadn't spoken with him since he'd met with Draco, and was almost too nervous to find out what he thought of it all.

"Hi, Harry."

"Hey. I... talked to him."

"I know. I met him just after that."

"Oh. Did he tell you much?" Harry caught his breath, finally at Hermione's side. She was surprised he'd been able to see her through the sea of students in the hallways. It was just after their first class of the day, and the halls were full of chattering students, most of which were her height or taller.

"Not really. Just that you spoke. He actually... he gave me the letters I wrote him. Just for safety's sake."

"I see. Well, things went... well. I'm actually glad we did that."

Hermione felt a weight slip right off her shoulders. "Really? Oh, thank Merlin... I was worried, for a second, that the two of you would just be too stubborn and keep arguing..."

"Not at all. We didn't have long, it was right to business. He told me, with complete honesty, what he was feeling."

"That's good. And you're thinking...?"

"He's definitely got more to him than a foul loathesome git."

"You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that."

"Hermione, he actually... he said some things to me that got me thinking. He almost didn't. They were like an afterthought, he'd already stood up and was ready to leave. But the last things he said to me got me thinking about more than just the fact that I was trying to approve of him. He sort of indirectly made me realize that you had to have approved of him first, and that... that he really cares about you. I don't think I've ever heard someone say it the way he said it, or so personally."

At this, Hermione stayed silent. She knew how Draco could be, and she was glad Harry was seeing it now too. The silence was not prolonged, however, as upon reaching the doorway to Flitwick's classroom, the tiny wizard was standing at the doorway and caught her attention.

"Ah, Miss Granger. This, for you, from Professor McGonagall. She wishes to see you immediately."

Hermione was slightly taken aback. She'd been doing fine on her Prefect duties, except the night Draco was poisoned. She hadn't been slipping in classes, or showing any outward sign of strain. She nodded once, smiling.

"I'll go right away. Thank you, Professor. Harry, save me a seat, I shouldn't be gone long." He looked at her quizzically, but there was no way to tell him that she had no idea whether or not this request was about anything that mattered at all. Usually if it were something important, Dumbledore himself would call a student in, but this was McGonagall - perhaps she had done something wrong, after all. Four minutes later, she had finished her rush through the hallways and knocked at McGonagall's door twice. The witch answered the door with a somber face that immediately worried Hermione, but she tried to show no sign of apprehension.

"Come in, dear... I fear we'll need to have a little talk. I've been meaning to call you in for days. Sit, sit, there's tea on the table..."

Hermione walked through the classroom to McGonagall's office in the back - a room she didn't remember ever being in before. It was similar to how Hermione would keep her own office - full of books and shelves, notes strewn everywhere, tea cups sitting haphazardly on a shelf behind her. Minerva McGonagall cleared a small stack of books from the chair on the opposite side of the desk and the pair sat. Hermione noticed that there was only one painting in the entire office - one of a rather indiscriminate looking woman who could have been painted fifty or five hundred years ago. She was looking at Hermione with a look of small pity, and Hermione knew that something was seriously the matter.

"Hermione, I'm assuming you know why I've called you in here today. We have something very important to discuss, something that I fear our Headmaster does not have the... sensitivity of discussing."

"I've no idea what you're talking about."

"Do not assume me blind, Miss Granger. I will start by simply stating that I know you were with Draco Malfoy the night he was poisoned - yes, I know he was poisoned - and that you stayed by his bedside that night."

Hermione could feel her face flush. Professor McGonagall had always had that feeling of omniscient knowledge about her students, and she wasn't short here.

"Yes. I was. We were on prefect duty."

"And you were able to get him to the infirmary before the effects worsened. I commend you on that. But falling asleep at his bedside is a step past sisterly duty, in the case of Draco Malfoy. If this had happened last year, I fear you may have left him to stew in his own sick. But this was not driven by a simple compulsion to do the right thing, I know."

How much _could_ she know? McGonagall had always had ways of knowing things she shouldn't, but this was worrisome.

"Did you think that the girl in the hospital wing woke on her own, so much earlier than you usually do? Did you think that she just happened to know to go first to Harry, not to any other friends of yours, despite the fact that she trembled in her boots when I mentioned she might have to talk to him? Yes, Miss Granger. I was the one who woke the girl. I was the one who sent her to Potter. I did not think it prudent to wake you myself and frighten the two of you, or to let someone else discover the little scene."

The first year with the broken arm. Of course. Someone would have had to have known to go to Harry. And while most knew that Harry was one of her best friends, how had McGonagall known that Harry had known? As she was about to ask, confusion plain on her face, Hermione stopped. McGonagall had sighed.

"I thought you quicker than this. Hogwarts has ears, Hermione. And eyes. And mouths. You really didn't think, in a school full of talking portraits, that you were going to be able to keep this relationship a secret for long?"

Portraits. Of course. Their hushed talks on prefect duty walks. Meeting outside the room of requirement. The portraits weren't much for gossip to students, but hell hath no fury like women trapped in portraits, she supposed. They'd gone to Hermione's head of house to tell her she'd been wandering the halls with Draco Malfoy at night. They'd even probably heard her talking to Harry in the deserted classroom, telling him it had been Draco all along.

Hermione cleared her throat, took a sip of tea, and continued. "I admit, I overlooked that little bit."

"And you should be glad that the woman you see behind me - an ancestor of mine long passed - decided to come to me first. The portraits talk, Hermione, and while they usually are good-natured, your trysts with young Mister Malfoy have not gone undiscussed."

What else could she know?

"I think you should start at the beginning. I'm sure these encounters did not start with a face to face, brutally honest romance. Call it intrigue."

Hermione thought back to the beginning. The first letters.

"I was... curious. I was looking for someone who read as much as myself, someone who valued knowledge and studiousness. I planted letters in a few books I thought people might pick up. I told them to put a reply in a book that I knew went unread, at least for the last decade. I only got one response from anyone my age. A boy, my year, who talked about being different than most people thought of him. Who valued knowledge and books and was tired of the mundane gossip of our fellow classmates. We started confiding in each other, carefully. I didn't want him to know who I was. I mislead him, in a few of them, so that he couldn't try and figure out who I was. After confidence came admiration, and the rest. He became desperate to know me, saying that literally nobody he knew, knew the real him. That most people didn't like him because of who he was. How was I supposed to resist that?"

McGonagall nodded. "I can't say I approve, at all. But he was talking about people despising him because of his alliances. You're... misunderstood, at the very least."

Hermione smiled, weakly. "Yes. We finally agreed to meet. When we did... we know we're in trouble. We know this is dangerous."

"Immensely so. But I can't stop you from it. I've got to say, Hermione, I know the rest. I know you've met, many times. I know Mr. Potter knows. I'm surprised he hasn't hexed Malfoy into oblivion." McGonagall crossed her ankles, leaning closer in her chair. "I know much more than you think I know, too. As does our Headmaster. I'm assuming you know of the cabinets?"

Hermione's initial panic was tantamount to facing Voldemort himself. But that subsided, too. If they knew, they must be doing something about it.

"Yes."

"Don't think anything is hidden from him. The Headmaster has his ways - whatever those ways may be - and has known for quite some time what is coming. He has known, I daresay, almost as long as Draco himself has known, or longer. He is very nearly anticipating it. I can't say I approve of that either. Do you know what is going to come of this year?"

Hermione nodded. "I know what Draco has been entrusted to do. And I know - through Draco's mother telling him - who will be taking charge of it if he can't."

McGonagall held up a hand, stopping her. "As do we, Ms. Granger. As do we. And there is no way to stop it."

Was it the light, or did Hermione see Minerva's eyes watering?

"In fact, Hermione, the Headmaster is almost looking forward to it. He says he has lived a very long and fortuitous life. He feels his purpose has been fulfilled. He has intentions and plans, and they will be seen and carried out by those he has entrusted them to. Do you understand that? Dumbledore has a plan. He has accepted what is coming. But you must tell no one. Not even Draco - Draco must carry out exactly what he has been told to do. If he doesn't, or if he tries to do anything differently, the plan will fail and Dumbledore will have died in vain. Things must go as planned."

Hermione nodded, now feeling as if her own eyes were close to watering.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione looked up at McGonagall, whose face had broken from stern, serious, to soft and caring. It was startling, to see her head of house in such a soft manner.

"This needs to happen. I don't like it either. But this is happening for so many reasons. Dumbledore explained it to me like this - this isn't just for Draco, for the sake of things happening as they should. It's to show the Death Eaters and all dark wizards that it's not just Dumbledore's strength and formidableness protecting Harry - it's the entire wizarding world, fighting to protect him and the right order of things."

Hermione nodded. She saw things so much differently now. Her entire vision of things had changed, all before lunchtime.

"I wish I could talk more, I think you could use it - but I have a class to prepare for, and I'm sure you don't like missing another class. Perhaps we will talk more soon."

The older witch stood, patting Hermione's shoulder as she stood too. "I thought it might reassure you a bit to hear that. It's all going to plan. This isn't a shock. It's how things must be."

Hermione nodded, feeling choked up. She knew she couldn't cry, couldn't show any outward signs that anything had happened, or Harry or someone would ask too many questions. She left the room with only a 'thank you' tossed over her shoulder at McGonagall, who looked both easier and more crestfallen.

McGonagall had thought it would be easier, talking to Hermione Granger. Only after seeing the way Hermione spoke of Draco Malfoy, and the fear she held in her eyes when hearing about the plan, did McGonagall realize - Hermione was not a little girl. She'd taken on a very dangerous secret, and was prepared to carry it through, even in the face of danger. In that moment, Hermione reminded her all too much of herself. Minerva closed the office door behind her - not to continue lesson plans, as stated, but to reflect on the topic at hand and to wish there was some way to make this easier on all involved.

* * *

Hermione set off down the hallway. If she couldn't meet with Draco tonight - he was still working on the cabinets - she had to at least let him know something had happened. He was flanked by his usual Slytherin group, but Hermione cleared her throat loudly and called his name.

"Malfoy."

He turned, his look near a smirk. "Granger."

"I have something to discuss with you. I've just spoken to Professor McGonagall. It's about... prefect duties. And your duties."

She hoped he could see the look in her eyes, and wouldn't brush her off for the sake of keeping up his 'image' with the Slytherins. He did. He said something quietly to his 'friends', who all chuckled, and called out that he'd meet them in Defense. He walked quickly to Hermione, who checked to make sure nobody was watching before she pulled him into an empty classroom and locked the door behind them.

"Pulling me into a classroom for a little snog before class? Hermione..."

She groaned. "You know very well I would not have done that for a _snog_."

"Am I that bad, Granger?"

She had nothing to say to that, nothing at all. He was very much the opposite of that, but this wasn't the right place.

"McGonagall called me into her office. She knows. She knows everything."

Draco started. "About us?"

"About everything. The cabinets. The plan. What you've been told to do. All of it."

Draco's fear showed true on his face. "What's happening?"

"She says Dumbledore has known as long as or longer than you have. I assume that's Snape's doing."

"Of course. And the Unbreakable Vow."

"She knows about the cabinets, at least. She says..." Hermione thought back to what McGonagall had said about telling Draco what they knew. "She says things have to happen. Dumbledore has a plan." She hoped that would make Draco think that Dumbledore would fight it. That would at least keep him working, and wouldn't make him stop completely. She couldn't let him know that the plan was to feed right into Voldemort's hands.

Draco nodded, looking sullen. "Okay. That's... okay. That doesn't change anything. I still have to continue."

"Yes. You do. I'm so sorry, I had to tell you, she told me not to, but I had to at least tell you this."

"Well... Thanks. I have to go, I have to catch up to the rest of them, but..."

He let out a breath, stepping towards her and backing her up so that her back hit the door, his hand on her hair kept her head from hitting it too. He bent his head towards hers, breathing heavily. "Thank you." He lowered his head the rest of the way and pressed his lips to hers, their mouths mingling there for a moment, moving silently against each other in the dim classroom. Just before he pulled back, Hermione thought to herself - if they were in grave danger and probably about to die, they should definitely have more moments like this.

* * *


	21. Chapter 21

"What did you talk about with Dumbledore?" Ron bit off a bit of taffy from the stick in his hand, chewing with his mouth open. Hermione found it almost funny that it was all of these silly, revolting habits of Ron's that kept her from feeling bitter about him. Perhaps he really hadn't seen she was interested, he was a bit slow on things like that, and he would always be her friend. She knew Ron, so well. He wasn't always the most level=headed person, but he had the best intentions. Usually. Most of the time. Which might make it that much harder to tell him the truth. He'd given up on asking, probably in part because Harry was quick to change the subject whenever it got close.

"It's... remember what I told you both about his theory last time? Well, it's probably true. Dumbledore's almost certain of it, of what Voldemort has hidden." He kept his voice lowered, even though they were in their own corner of the Three Broomsticks. Hermione wanted to ask more, but knew this wasn't the time or place. Harry's sort of lessons with Dumbledore had been weighing on him heavily, and she knew that he needed at least a few hours to think about this before they spoke again. Harry doodled something on a paper napkin and slid it into the center of the table between the three of them.

_RR. Midnight. Plan._

Hermione nodded and saw Ron do the same out of the corner of her eye. He knew what was happening, then. Well, he knew what he was allowed to know. A sickening feeling filled her stomach and made her completely unable to finish her fresh butterbeer.

"We'd better get going. Storm's getting bad. The both of you?" She stood, wrapping her coat tighter around her, and gestured for them to follow her. Anything, anything at all to keep her from sitting at that table and feeling as guilty as she did.

* * *

"We need a room... just for a little meeting, not like we used to. A table and chairs. Some lights. And I want nobody, not anybody, to be able to get in or listen in. And no portraits, either."

After passing the blank expanse of wall a third time, a door seemed to shimmer into place, cracking open for the three that stood outside it. They all hurried inside, shutting the door behind them with a finite thud, and sat.

"We can't keep doing this... the three of us do _not_ fit under an invisibility cloak anymore."

"We didn't have a choice, tonight. We can try figuring out something different later. Dumbledore has been bringing me into more memories lately, in the Pensieve... tonight we saw one that confirmed it. Voldemort's using Horcruxes. It's the only way he's stayed alive this far, and he'll stay that way if we don't destroy them."

"How many are there?"

"Five? Seven? We think seven, but only know of about half of them right now, not everyone knew about them to begin with. He's been careful."

"So what do we do?" Hermione urged Harry to tell them more.

"We? I can't... you guys..."

"Harry, I've already told you before. We're coming with you. No matter what, when, where, how. Right, Ron?"

Ron nodded silently, looking at his hands.

"And besides, you know we'll be of help to you. We can watch out for you, at the very least, and help when we can. Do you know how to destroy them yet?"

"Not at all. Dumbledore has a few theories, one that worked with the least damage he can think of. But it's not enough. We don't even know where they could be, or..."

"Harry! We're following you. We don't care how difficult it's going to be."

Ron nodded this time, clearing his throat. "She's right, you know. We'd never let you go alone. We're your best mates. And we've been with you through everything else, haven't we? Why not this?"

"You could die! Be killed! Both of you."

"And so could you, but we all stand a better chance if we stick together."

Harry couldn't deny this logic, and simply nodded. "Fine. We'll discuss this later."

Hermione had another burning question, but didn't dare bring it up in front of Ron. Not just yet. She waited until they all stood, crept back to the dormitory and empty common room in silence at nearly one in the morning, and stepped in through the portrait hole. Ron immediately trudged off to bed, claiming he was exhausted from all the planning they'd done. Harry moved to follow him but Hermione grabbed the sleeve of his sweater, making him stop.

"Harry, wait..."

"Hmm?"

"I was... I didn't want to say anything in front of Ron. About... who you spoke to the other day. And what they said."

Harry nodded solemnly. "Yeah."

"I mean. I know he told you he'd follow us, but I want you to make sure you know he's serious."

"I think I know that. He was... there was something about him. The way he spoke."

"And you're alright with it?"

"I'm not happy. But I guess if he does... people will find out. He knows that, right? Because in the back of my head I'm worried he's going to run off with us and then betray us."

"Harry, he wouldn't..."

"But if he did? The only way we can be sure is to make sure there is no communication between us and the outside world, the entire time we're looking."

"I'm sure he'd agree to that. He's got nobody else to talk to, and he especially won't after he's turned on them all and joined our side."

Harry pondered this a moment and nodded. "I suppose you're right. And he'll be close to us the entire time, so I can watch, just in case. Hermione, it's going to take a lot for me to even think of trusting him. After what he's done to us, to Ron, to me, to you... I don't know how he managed to change your mind, but you know it took months and special circumstances."

"I know. It won't be easy. But he's still willing. I've warned him about all of this."

"Good. Then you've only got one thing left to do."

"And what's that?"

"Tell Ron."

 _Oh._ Hermione knew that this had to come some day. "Right."

"I know you don't want to, but the sooner the better. He's got to deal with this with me. He won't trust him if he's got to do it on his own, after we do. You know how stubborn he gets."

"Oh, I know that all too well."

"And you're... you're going to have to get along with him while we're out there. None of this ignoring each other business, I won't have it. The second it happens, I'll send you both back home, to the Burrow, something."

"Harry. I know. We'll be fine. We've been avoiding a real conversation."

Harry nodded. "Things happened. He clearly had feelings for someone else, as did you. But you kept yours a total secret, where he was public about his. Neither are wrong, just... just different. You'll have to work that out between yourselves."

Hermione smiled weakly. "One way or another. We'll figure this out. We have to."

She patted Harry's shoulder and headed for her dormitory, eager to get a good night's sleep in her four-poster, mostly due to the fact that she was seeing Draco the next morning before breakfast.

* * *

Her meeting with Draco had gone well - well... better than well. It had ended as their meetings did now, with no words, only movements and kisses and politely roaming hands. She wanted things to move as much as he did, but with everything that was going on lately, she didn't know if that was quite the right direction to head in.

Her meeting with Ron that afternoon would not go as well. She had told him to meet her on the pretense of becoming friends again and talking about Harry, and he had seemed perfectly willing. He was supposed to meet her in an old practice classroom any minute now...

Uncharacteristically on time for once, Ron shut the door behind him.

"You put charms up yet?"

"How could you have gotten in if I did?"

"Oh. Right. Charm away, then..."

Hermione flicked her wand at the door twice, muttering incantations while thinking of how she might lay this news on Ron.

"So, Hermione... you wanted to talk?" He hopped up on a desk, swinging his legs as much as he could. She remembered him doing this in just their first year at Hogwarts, his legs weren't nearly as long, his feet had swung freely. Now that Ron was nearly six feet tall, at only sixteen, the toes of his tattered shoes brushed the stone floors when he moved.

"Yes. I did. Firstly, about Harry. He's... do you think he's alright? He seems a little..."

"Off? Yeah. I mentioned it to him this morning when you went to the library, he said he's fine, just a little nervous. Dumbledore is leaving him this big job to do and he has no idea what it even means or how to do it."

"I can't imagine. But we'll look after him, right?"

"Yeah. And we'll talk. We'll... we'll do it together. Like old times." He smiled sheepishly. This was going to hurt worse than she thought.

"Ron, there's something we've got to talk about."

"Lavender? I know, I was a right prat, I feel bad, not even Percy was that arrogant... I was rude, awful. And I'm sorry."

"While I do appreciate the apology, Ron - I really, really do - this isn't your turn to apologize. It's mine."

"For what? What did you do?"

"Not necessarily something I've done. Do you remember the letters, how I was writing them all the time but wouldn't tell you who they were from?"

"Yeah, you still writing them?"

"No."

"Well good, I didn't trust whoever it was anyway. Who would refuse to meet you like that? Bit sketchy, if you ask me."

"No, Ron, I mean I don't write him anymore because I've met him. I know who he is."

Ron turned even paler than usual, adjusting his position on the desk. "You know who he is?"

"Yes. And it's not who I expected at all, Ron, and it's really difficult."

"It can't be that bad."

"It can."

"It's not like it can be Malfoy or anything, can it?"

Hermione was only thankful that she hadn't had to say the name, and then immediately felt guilty for doing so. Ron had just named who he least expected it to be, and it had been that very man. She stayed silent for a few long moments, hoping Ron would be able to interpret the silence as admittance. For once, thankfully and not so much so, he did.

"You're joking."

"I almost wish I was. Ron, you must understand, we had these feelings, this connection, before we ever met. There was a connection before we knew who the other was, and that's the only reason this worked out like it did."

"Worked out? Like what, like you're still seeing him? Even after you found out it's Draco Malfoy?"

"Yes."

"I can't believe this." He hopped off the desk, running his hands through his ginger hair, messing it up even more. "I can't believe you'd do this. If you really didn't know who he was, why didn't you just walk away when you found out it _was_ him?"

"Ron, please. I'd already had feelings for him. They wouldn't have been any different had he been anyone else. I wanted to, but I couldn't. And you'll see, he can talk to you, too, he talked to Harry and told him everything."

"Harry knows? And he never told me?"

"We both knew you'd act like this! Why can't you be happy for me?"

"The same reason you weren't happy for me about Lavender."

 _Ouch._ That had been the painful truth, and Ron had quickly, surprisingly out-smarted her. "That's not got anything to do with it..."

"It does to _ME."_ Ron was breathing heavily now. "I knew _exactly_ why you weren't happy about me and Lav, but it's like you said to me. 'Pluck up the courage and ask me'. Yeah, well, look how things change."

He was nearly spitting mad now, and hopped back up onto the table, head in his hands.

"Ron... I'm sorry. This was... I mean... you were already with Lavender. You were with her in the blink of an eye. And then Draco came along in these letters and it's not like you were available, like I had you to hold me back. You had someone else. In fact, you'd been very public about having someone else and leaving me behind."

Ron's anger faded. "I know. I know! It's just... I only stuck with her because you were barely paying attention to me those days, outright ignoring me. So I stayed with her until I got well again and then what? I asked for you, said your name, and nothing happened. I think I knew it even then, that it was something about _him,_ your mystery letter writing friend. You became detached. Harry noticed. He stopped talking about it recently though and now I know why!"

"Ron, it was my job to tell you, not his. If you'd have heard it from him, you'd have immediately tried to, I don't know, team up against me and get this to stop. Well, sorry Ronald, but it's not going to stop happening. So you've got two choices. You accept this and talk to him and work it out like rational people, or you don't, and let me tell you something Ron Weasley, if you don't - and you most definitely should - you are going to have hell to pay from me, myself, and I. Harry has learned to accept what is happening and he's thinking things through logically. He has his suspicious and I fully grant him that - I still have mine at times, too. But you can work with us or against us. Your move."

As if to answer, Ron slid off the table for the last time, stalking towards the door before opening it and leaving Hermione alone in the classroom. What did that mean? He'd been, despite everything, better than she'd thought. He clearly understood it was a secret, since even he hadn't been told. But what would he say? His decision was crucial. If he didn't talk to Draco, didn't accept this, what would they do when they looked for Horcruxes? Draco had said he wanted to join them, as did Ron, but how would that work if they despised each other? Hermione shook her head, removing what was left of the enchantments Ron had burst through, and stomped off towards the library for some much-needed alone time.

* * *

"I see Hermione told you." Ron had climbed through the portrait-hole in haste, looking around the room for Harry and spotting him just by the fire.

"Yeah. You knew! You knew and you didn't tell me!"

"It was her job to tell you, Ron. Not mine." Harry patted the seat on the sofa next to him.

"She said that too."

"That's because it's true. And she only told me just recently. I talked to him. And I want you to know, Ron, I'm not one-hundred percent behind this, either. But she's happy. I'm sure you've noticed that much. Even since she's known who he is, she's been happy."

"Yeah, I guess." Ron picked at a hole in the knees of his jeans. "But I don't know."

"You've been yelling. Your voice is a little hoarse."

"Well, after I practically had to guess who he was... and she stayed silent... I blew up. How could I not?"

Harry nodded. "I see."

"And anyway, I'm not really mad at her. I'm a bit mad at him, because he's a thorn in my side twice over, but I can't be mad at her. I told her she should have done what she told me after the Yule Ball, pluck up the courage... but she reminded me that I was already with Lavender at that time. She's right."

"'Course she is. It's Hermione. Ron, it's fine to be mad. It is."

"But I'm not mad because it's wrong, even though it is. I'm mad because she didn't tell me, and I've been worried sick about her, mate. Secretive, sneaking off, she thinks we don't see what she's up to. She's smart but she's not particularly sneaky. And she's a horrible liar. I'm just afraid for her."

"Did she tell you to talk to him?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe you should. I did, and I've seen a side of him I didn't know existed. He's a different person, with her, and as much as I'd like to believe he's faking it... he's got some things even you'd be surprised to hear."

Ron nodded. "Chess?"

"You bet. I'll go get my set."


	22. Chapter 22

The bathroom amplified his every word, even though it seemed to him that his only other friend could hear him from where she was, a few feet away. He hadn't yet told Hermione about meeting with Myrtle, and for good reason - it made him sound like a nutter, even to himself. But he remembered his fathers letter from earlier, short and to the point. It was tucked away in his pocket, and he intended on burning it and flushing it down the nearest toilet tonight. Nobody could know about this - not even Hermione. The promise this letter contained was too much to bear.

"Don't," crooned Myrtle's voice from one of the cubicles, "Don't... tell me what's wrong... I can help you..."

He knew though, that she couldn't. That unless this plan worked to the very split second, that no one could. He gripped the sides of the sink basin to keep himself from falling. His whole body shook with the convulsions of fear and sadness that overtook him. His face was wet, he knew he'd been crying but hadn't the time or energy to wipe his face. When he heard the footsteps behind him, he wished he had. Nobody should see him like this, let alone... Potter.

Draco drew his wand instinctively. Newfound trust or not, Potter had not called himself out, had not made himself known. Could he have been coming after him? Draco knew about that map, the one that knew where everyone was. Had Potter come to find him and finish him off, so that he wouldn't be dragged off on the hunt like dead weight?

It was a blur, one hex and curse after the other. He was aware that something had smashed and that there was water everywhere, soaking his shoes and the bottoms of his robes. But neither man seemed ready to speak, to stop this madness. Draco felt spells and curses fly of his tongue, each of them missing his mark. He was, at this point, unaware of what he was even saying. He felt _fear._

His last upright memory was of Harry shouting something as loud as anyone could, and of an agonizing slashing pain across his chest and ribcage, and up on his face as well. Once on the floor he heard Harry muttering something, looking worried. He couldn't properly hear him, but once Potter was close enough, he garbled out the first thing he had thought of in that moment.

_I deserved that._

He saw the plain shock in Harry's face, and believed him when he heard him say, in a muffled way, that he hadn't meant to and hadn't known what he was saying or what the spell did. His last few conscious seconds were of staff streaming in, clearly alerted by Myrtle or another sort of figure, and of Harry standing by, wand away, awaiting punishment.

* * *

_His dreams were as blurred as the moments before he lost consciousness._

_He was in a cave, deep in a forest. Hermione was beside him, Ron and Harry sat across from them, all around the now-dying embers of a fire. Harry and Ron are whispering to each other, they aren't sharing their plans with he or Hermione. Has he caused her to lose their trust? Has he caused more problems than good? Does she still think he's worth it? And what about..._

Draco woke suddenly, a pillow grasped firmly in his arms. He had been in and out of sleep since two nights before, with Potter. He had come to see him twice, but Draco had been unable to communicate with anyone who came to visit. He mostly heard Harry say something that sounded like an apology, and Hermione chastise him in whispered tones for getting in a fight with Harry in the first place. He couldn't answer to that, either. She seemed like such a lovely little blur now, he couldn't quite bring any of it into focus...

Until, of course, Madam Pomfrey poured a generous amount of potion down his throat, waking him fully and bringing his attention to Snape, who sat in the chair beside his bed.

"Explain. Now."

"I can't... what's..."

"Now, Draco. I have allowed you a day and a half's peaceful rest, but that ends now. You're lucky I was near enough to return the blood to your body. As for Potter, he's gotten off with simply detentions with myself weekly until the end of term. My more severe punishments were, as usual, turned down. As for you, I'll make sure your suffering is the same or worse if you don't explain to me what happened there in the next thirty seconds."

"I was in the bathroom... I needed somewhere to think. Myrtle listened. I shouldn't have... I know. But I wouldn't tell her anything. Potter found me in there. I... I don't know how."

"And you just started trying to kill each other on school grounds? Lovely."

"There have been... problems. Of course. But yes, to an extent. I don't trust him, he doesn't trust me."

"And for good reason." Snape sat back in the chair, hands on his knees. "But you're very, very lucky I am your head of house and am not inclined to write to your father or his authority and to mention this little mistake. If you don't remember, in the fog of your idiocy, you are supposed to be keeping a low profile until your task has been completed. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good. I won't have your mother killing me for no reason, though I don't doubt that she could..."

"What does my mother have to do with any of this?"

Snape's face remained still as stone, though he stood and walked to the door. "It's not of your concern. Do as you are told or suffer the consequences."

The door shut behind him and Madam Pomfrey emerged from her office, where she'd surely been sent by Snape.

"Dreadful man... makes me look as cheerful as Pomona, I tell you what..."

Draco was nearly at ease, ready to relax in his hospital bed for a few more hours before returning to the castle, until he saw an envelope on his bedside table. He knew that wax stamp all too well - it was his fathers. He peeled open the flap and held the letter as far from his face as possible. When it seemed to be only plain paper this time he relaxed slightly, clear to Madam Pomfrey. He unfolded the letter, waited until she walked away, and began to read.

_Draco_

_We have received word from our dear friend that Dumbledore is due to leave the castle tomorrow night. Your first task - to repair what was broken - is as of yet incomplete. This must be finished by tomorrow, or our one chance at pulling this off will fail. It will be on your head - quite literally - if this fails. Our Dark Lord is displeased that it has not been completed sooner, and wishes to have a word with you as soon as you return home this summer._

_Send word as soon as they are fixed, and we will commence with the second part of the plan tomorrow night at the moment Dumbledore leaves the castle. You must be ready for action by nightfall. This is sooner than expected, but you are still to complete your task on time, or on your own life be it._

That was it, then. He had a day to fix the cabinets. Tomorrow night, everything he'd carefully crafted would unravel. He'd let them in. He would lead them to the right places. But worst of all... he'd have a hand in Dumbledore's death. Even if he cheated his duties by having Snape do the actual deed, Draco still had a hand bloodied by the blame of it. He would be letting Death Eaters into Hogwarts. He would set the trap himself. _  
_

He sat bolt upright in bed. He didn't have a few hours to rest. He didn't even have time to seek out Hermione, to hint to her in some way that it was all about to happen. He would find her tonight, somehow, and tell her everything. His fears, his dreams. How much he wished he didn't have to do any of it.

There was no time for that. He stood, on shaky legs, and dressed. He saw Madam Pomfrey attempt to cross the room and stop him, but he was out the door before she could reach him. He walked with purpose not towards his classes, but towards the Room of Requirements and its dark contents.

Hours later, long after darkness had fallen over the castle and students had all gone to bed with full stomachs and dreams in their heads, Draco stepped out of a door in the wall that vanished behind him. The chirping of a bird could be heard in the seconds before it closed, and his grim face would be sign enough to anyone who might know the plan. He had succeeded. The cabinets were fixed. Now he only had one day, the longest day in his life, to wait and watch everything unfold in front of him. One day until his alliance officially changed and he proved his love to Hermione and her friends. He only wished he could prove it to everyone else, as well.

He had had plenty of time to think about what exactly would happen. In frantic, hushed moments between himself and Hermione, they'd always planned to figure it out when the time came. Well, he thought, the time was here and now, and he only just now had a half-formed plan.

He would not move to kill Dumbledore. He would pretend that he had the intention, for appearance's sake. But when time came and the Death Eaters sent through the cabinets intended to retrieve him and take him back with them to the Manor, he would not go. He would stay, claiming to continue to be useful there. They would commend his bravery in the face of being found out, and would likely assign him some new task, likely to watch Harry's moves. He would have nothing to report, or false leads.

He would stay out of the way. The Death Eaters, fueled by rage, would only notice that he was not able to draw his wand to Dumbledore and end his life. But his promise to find himself useful in other ways would spare him. He knew Snape would not betray his lie.

Draco would not have to kill. He would not have to hide or return to the manor. He would not be killed. Now, of course, he just had to hope that everything actually went according to plan, or he'd risk it all.

* * *

Harry nearly lost an eye the night before. He had told Hermione about his confrontation with Draco and his use of _Sectumsempra._ She'd been livid, and still was, but it was a true sign of her friendship that she still walked beside him and spoke in whispers about Harry's latest meeting with Dumbledore. Potions had just ended, and

"He said that?"

"Yeah, and even more, this..."

Before Harry could continue what he'd heard, Hermione felt a tap on her arm. Nobody else would reach out to her, she was with the only other person who required her attention... she turned to see the shock of white-blond hair, messed up and tangled. His face was even paler than usual, his features twisted into something she could not read.

"The bird came back." He slipped a piece of paper into her hand.

With that he was gone, swept away in the tide of students in the crowded corridor. She barely had time to remember what he'd been doing and what that would mean before Harry looked at her, curious.

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing important. It's... a sort of code for something."

Harry did not immediately relent, and his questioning look very nearly made Hermione tell him everything. This was her best friend, she hated not telling him things, and this of all things was most important. She knew it was not yet time to tell him. He would have to know later, but could not know now. Eventually, though, he turned away. Hermione's breath shook, threatening to give her away. It was indeed important - vitally important to their cause and to what might happen in the next few days. She was thankful that Harry seemed not to have seen the passing of the note, and gripped it tightly in her hand. What this note contained could destroy them both.

* * *

That night just before Dinner, Hermione took time to seek out Dumbledore and request a meeting. He had said nothing but a time and, as if it were a side note he'd forgotten, two words.

"Cadbury Creams."

She knew from Harry's stories that these words would be the password into his office, and hours later she now stood in front of the stone gargoyle that would move aside when prompted. She took the opportunity to read Draco's note one last time before she saw Dumbledore.

_The bird came back, live. I received a letter in the hospital wing - Dumbledore will be leaving the castle tomorrow night. It will happen then. There's no turning back now. We'll meet in the morning to discuss. I love you._

She had cried at these words, sealed away in her four-poster. She'd known, immediately, that she must go to see Dumbledore, and that she had to ask him a few last questions. She didn't know what all he might answer, but she was here to find out.

"Cadbury Creams."

The gargoyle leaped aside, providing entrance to the winding, moving staircase that brought her to the door of Dumbledore's study. Before she could even knock, the door swung open. Dumbledore sat at his desk, a book perched in his hands. He smiled at her, waving her over to his desk. How could he be so calm? He knew what was going to happen. McGonagall had said as much.

"Professor, I..."

He held up a hand, silencing her, and she waited a long moment while he marked a page in his book, set it in a drawer, and straightened his half-moon spectacles. Would this be the last time she'd see him? She feared so.

"I know why you are here, as much as I know you know my plans and intentions."

"He can't stop it, he can't do anything about it..."

"I am aware of Draco's problems. The trouble, it seems, is that he was raised by a set of parents who both wished to protect him and to raise him in the ranks of Voldemort's followers. His mother, who fears most for his safety, wishes to see him succeed so that he may live. His father, who wants only for his boy to prove himself and his worth, wants Draco to succeed so that he may too receive some sort of credit. But they have both measured wrong, and there I have seen Draco's allegiance change so drastically. I am sure that you, of all people, know what I am speaking of?"

She felt her face flush. He knew everything, of course he did. McGonagall had known she'd been sneaking off to see Draco, and of course this would be reported to the Headmaster. She nodded.

"Do not think I speak ill of your rule breaking - in fact, I think that these transgressions and the effect of Draco's change of heart have been more good than anything else. I've known for as long, or longer, than Professor McGonagall, though I fear she waited quite a few days before admitted this truth to me. I can see why. The son of the most prominent of Death Eaters, the Slyherin prefect, the boy who has taunted and tortured many for years. The daughter of muggle dentists, with bravery fit for Gryffindor yet intelligence beyond that of any Ravenclaw student here, who has more good in her heart than most people I have seen over my very, very long life. The pairing is not one I would have chosen. But it has given results beyond my hopes.

"I think that you must know, Miss Granger, that I know more than even you do. I have ears and mouths beyond these walls and within them, alliances and connections that, to say, keep me in the loop. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"And I assume you're here for a bit of advice, instead of revealing anything which I surely already know."

"You're correct."

"Then carry on, dear. My life is short."

She gaped. How was he so easily able to admit this? "I just... you know so much already. I don't know quite what to ask."

Dumbledore chuckled to himself, unwrapping a candy and popping it in his mouth. "The one with all the answers, but with no questions. I will assume, then, that you're here to ask a little about what to do. You have feelings for Draco, but know he is entrusted with a duty that he will surely fail. He will not kill me. I know this. But you fear that the fact that he was told to, will affect your feelings for each other. But I have one quesiton for you, Miss Granger, something I think we both already know the answer to. Will you let it? Will you let something that happened months ago, against his will, affect how you feel about him and your trust for him?"

She knew the answer immediately. "No. Never never no."

"Good. Then I have one last bit of advice for you, before you return to the hallway outside my office where Draco is waiting. He got here moments before you did and I'm surprised you didn't catch him peeking around the corner."

"I was distracted."

"Clearly. You must remember, Miss Granger, that it is love which powers all things. Followers of Voldemort, and none more than the man himself, believe it to be fear. They believe that through fear and intimidation, through killing and dark magic, that they can conquer all. But what they fail to realize is that even if they win - which they won't - that there would still be love in our hearts and a desire to comfort one another. And that that love, of all things, will prevail and ruin them, this night or the next. Just as your love for Harry and Ron, and their love for you, has protected the three of you over the years, I believe that love can protect a young man who is just learning the error of his ways. Love is what will keep him grounded. It will keep him firmly on our side. It will test him and prove his worth."

"I see."

"What you must remember, Hermione, is it is not his judgement and his actions that you must watch for. If there is love, he will stay on your side given almost any circumstances. But it is the judgemental and fearful eyes of others that you must be careful of. Though you try to your friends over to him, and you may have your way, there are thousands and thousands more in our world that will, no matter what they see of him, always believe him to be in capable of changing sides. Even if your love grows, and years down the road you find yourselves still together, there will be some who simply will not welcome him because of his name. It is up to you whether or not you even care what these people think! They may mean nothing to you. But they may also be close friends, people as close as family. And it will be up to you what to do then. As much as you might like, you cannot make everyone happy."

"Thank you, sir. I'll remember that."

"Now, if you'd excuse me. I have little time left and wish to spend it in solitude. Not that I don't appreciate your company, of course I have! But an old man has his simple pleasures and I'm sure you'd grant me those in this time."

She nodded, standing and walking towards the door. As she reached for the handle he called her name again, but in a much different tone. It was softer this time, and he sounded older than she'd ever heard him.

"Hermione?"

"Yes, Professor Dumbledore?"

"My most important point is this - if there is love, it will defy your blood or your alliances. It will both test you and complete you. But it is not in what you're made of physically, but your capability for love. It is in what we say and do, and the way he'll look at you, and what he means when he says it - it is all of those things combined that will give you your answer and your strength, on your trials with Harry and beyond that as well."

She felt a lump form in her throat and knew that this would be the last time she spoke with him. From the sound of it, he knew as well. Tears welled up and threatened to drop onto her outstretched hand.

"Thank you, professor. For everything."

He did not respond, and when she turned again she saw him picking up the book, turning to his marked page. She flew through the door and down the stairs and very nearly crashed into Draco.

"Are you alright? You're crying. I... did he say anything? What happened?"

It was at this point that the tears fell over, running off her chin. "We'll talk in a safer place. Can't be seen now. I'll meet you in fifteen minutes."

Draco nodded, brushing a tear off her cheek with the pad of his thumb. He turned away and left her with her sadness for the time she requested.

Fifteen minutes later, she watched him enter the Room of Requirement from her seat inside of it.

"You spoke to him."

"He knows everything, you know that. He spoke to me."

"About?"

"About love. And alliances. And about... about how it won't be easy. But that I'll know what to do."

"Course you will. Are you still... in this?"

"Of course I am. I just... it was hard. I know that's the last time I'll ever speak to him. And to have him be so sure of what I'm doing, and of my ability to make the right choice... it's humbling."

"I can imagine. I wish I could speak to him, but... I can't face him."

"I wouldn't be able to, in your situation. But he said something that I think was meant more for you than me."

"What?"

"Love is what will keep you grounded."

Draco sat silently beside her, taking her hand in his and running his thumb over the back. "That's an understatement."

She inched towards him, moving slowly until she crawled into his lap. He held her there, her arms around his neck, for a long time.

"I'm scared, Draco."

"I am too. I don't know what will happen... I have no idea."

"What if..."

"No. None of that. Things will be fine. We will make them so."

"Then let's run through this. Make sure we know what's happening."

"Fine. Dumbledore leaves the castle tomorrow night. He should be gone for some time, he told Snape himself. I'm to go to the cabinets, and wait for people to show up. As they do, I let them in, and then let them into the castle. They will wait for Dumbledore - how they'll know where he is, I don't know, likely something Snape has done - and I will lead them there. Some will, inevitably, be caught up in other things. I will attempt to carry out my duties, as far as they can see, but I will fail in some way. I think I'll just draw it out until Snape does it himself. He'll know I won't do it, and because he's doing his best to protect me, he'll do it quickly so that less of them see. As soon as that's over they'll disperse, likely leaving the castle. I'll meet you in the courtyard at eleven. You'll join the mourning, I'll stay out of the public eye but in places so that I can't be blamed for anything. We'll meet again after that just to make sure we're both fine. And once that's over..."

"We'll figure out the time between then and wherever we head next. I was planning to visit my parents. I'm going to modify their memories, keep them safe. They'll have new names and aliases. They'll move. After that, though, I'll end up at the Burrow with Harry and Ron and the Weasleys. How will we take care of that?"

"I'll have to hide, obviously. Invisibility, maybe? You could sneak me food. A charm or potion."

"That's going to have to work. We don't really have any other option. I have to be there for Bill and Fleur's wedding..."

"I understand. And then who knows what."

"Exactly."

"As long as I'm with you."

They sat in silence for some time, holding each other tightly. He kissed her once, and then again, and then in their current position things got slightly heated. The warmth of his hands on her back, up her sweater. Her hands tangled in his hair. The need to be closer to him, to give him this, was almost overwhelming. But it wasn't too much to cloud her judgement.

"Draco, wait. We should... stop. I mean, I'd want to, I do, but this really isn't the right time."

"If things go wrong, it could be our only time."

"You can't think like that. We'll be fine. And it's not something I'm willing to give up on the off chance that you die."

"Hermione, i... I'm sorry. Look. I love you, I do. And I want this. But if you want to wait, I'm more than willing."

"Thank you. It's... I've never even thought about it. But we'll have the opportunity. And once all is said and done... we'll have all the time in the world."

He smiled at her, patting a spot on the couch next to him. It was for the best. She slid off his lap, snuggling into his side for a long while before they both grew tired.

As they stood to say their goodbyes, their breathing was shaky. Draco shook himself awake.

"This could be the last time we speak before everything happens."

"I know. I'd have loved to meet you in the morning, but I just don't think..."

"Me either. Let's leave it at this." He stepped towards her, winding his arms around her waist. He kissed her slowly, pulling her against him. He felt her arms snake around his neck and they stayed this way for a rather long moment.

if there was something that would get him through the next day, it would be a strong mind and a memory of this feeling and what it meant to him.

They separated, said their goodnights, and headed to their respective dormitories for the last time before the final fallout. In twenty-four hours they'd know everything. They'd know what had been done and what would be done.


	23. Chapter 23

Dawn broke suddenly over the line of trees that made up the Forbidden Forest. Hermione turned towards the window with a sort of slow surprise. She hadn't slept a wink, and hadn't figured she would. She had expected that, eventually, the sun would rise and that awful day would begin. She just hadn't expected it so soon. There was no turning back now.

She rose from bed earlier than the girls in her dormitory, showering and readying herself for the day. What if it was their last? She spent a few extra minutes readying herself just in case. She knew she'd been the one to remind him that everything would be alright - he wasn't the optimistic type anyway - but she hadn't expected that she'd have to try so hard to convince herself.

Not worst of all was the fact that Hermione had yet to uncover who had been the original owner of Harry's Potions book. She already knew that he'd followed a spell there that he hadn't understood. What if he did worse? Ron still wasn't fully speaking to her. He'd mention things to her in passing, sit beside her at the Gryffindor table when that was how they all fell into place. But he hadn't brought up Draco again. No, worst of all was, of course, the events of the day before her. An endless day of classes and studying, preparing for final exams. It nearly shocked her to realize that she didn't give a damn about exams, not now when so much more was at stake. She wished that she could slip a note into his warm palm, meet him in the dark eaves of a corner of the castle, and tell him one last time - if it were the last time - how much he meant to her. But there wouldn't even be notes, not between herself and Draco at least. Just a day of pointless notes on parchment about spells and potions and things.

At their goodbye last night, they'd decided to go without contact until it was all over. They'd meet in the courtyard at eleven that night. Eleven. That was - oh, it was still so early! There were sixteen hours left to go until then. Nearly an entire day. She wouldn't be able to rest - there was too much at stake. She thought about breakfast, but just the thought of eating made her stomach twist. Harry would send Ginny up in a few minutes to look for her, to coax her down for breakfast. And he'd think it was her worrying about exams! For a fleeting moment, she wished she'd told Harry everything - the cabinets, the plan. But she knew that could not happen. Dumbledore himself had admitted it.

Hermione tried, leaning against the walls of the bathroom, to think of something that would make her feel even a little bit better. The letters? No, she'd obsess over how they might be the last she heard from him. A walk? No, the bright early summer sunlight would only irritate her. The library might be nice, but she'd picture him waiting around every corner, in the very beginning of it all, looking for her letters.

She raised her fingers to her lips without a second thought - he'd kissed these lips, so many times. It should not be the last. He had a plan. Everything would be... fine.

* * *

Six minutes. Five, four, three, two, one...

In his last peaceful moments, Draco repeated the plan to himself countless times. Open the cabinet for the Death Eaters to enter. Follow their instructions precisely, until Dumbledore was within their grasp. Disarm Dumbledore. Wait for the real chaos to begin - and then flee. Hide somewhere dark, somewhere nobody would expect.

The second hand passed the tip top of the clock beside him, and as he reached for the knob to open the cabinet, it flung open, narrowly missing smacking him in the face. Half a dozen Death Eaters poured out before the door was closed, then re-opened, and another handful joined them. Most he recognized, and it became immediately clear to him that tonight was not a night that The Dark Lord had taken lightly - he'd sent his best duelers and most trusty companions to Hogwarts tonight to do what he felt he could not yet do.

And in one step that Draco would regret for a long time, despite the fact that he had no choice - he followed them.

* * *

_'Hurry, Draco. He's coming, I can feel it...'  
_

_'The time has come for you to prove yourself. Are you ready?'_

_'Now, Draco! Now!'_

One by one, the Death Eaters split off in pursuit of duels and fights. Draco at last was alone, walking towards the top of the highest tower. He heard a commotion from above, Dumbledore speaking in low tones. Harry would be with him - he had to hide that as best as he could. He waited a moment then burst through the door, aiming his wand with true accuracy and shouting despite the feeling that his lungs were empty of air.

"Expelliarmus!"

A moment later, the old man's voice echoed in the small round room.

"Good Evening, Draco."

The Dark Mark hung in the air behind him, though the murder had not yet taken place. The eerie green coming from behind Dumbledore's slight frame bathed Draco's skin, making him glow. In the moments that Death Eaters, Snape included, joined him at the top of the tower, Dumbledore spoke to him with all the derision of a man about to be cruelly slain. But it was the look in his wide eyes that said otherwise, and Draco knew that it was Dumbledore's last kindness to him that he did not look upon him as a villain, but as a hero in his own right.

* * *

He would be numb, if it weren't for the pain in his feet. As soon as his part was done - disarming Dumbledore and feigning incompetence - he was out the door. He followed a Death Eater for just a moment before splitting off, seemingly for other pursuits. But his feet padded down staircases and through long hallways, around corners and through one very large doorway.

The library smelled different to him - but everything seemed a little strange, tonight.

He'd done it - he'd managed to do as little as possible while keeping himself safe from the wrath of his father's friends. He sank back against a bookshelf in the farthest, darkest corner of the library. There would be no one here - everyone was already out of bed, in a panic. Everyone might already be outside by now.

He squinted in the dark at the clock on the far wall - and by a stroke of luck was able to read it without lighting his wand. It was ten-thirty, he had half an hour until he was almost sure the Death Eaters would all be gone, and he could meet Hermione in the courtyard.

Her face had been in his mind the whole time. When he disarmed Dumbledore, when he spat cruel words at a man who had never done anything but believed in the good in him. He had said disgusting things to Albus Dumbledore, a man who had spent precious time defending him. A man who was now, he was sure of it, dead. In his mad rush down the stairs, he'd seen a couple of students running towards the main doors talking about it. How his body had fallen from the highest tower. He would have been dead before he'd hit the ground - a Killing Curse, of course. Right to the chest. He didn't stand a chance. Snape had always had an impeccable aim...

In his last moments of solitude he thought of Hermione. He thought about her lithe form, about her hair, about the way she constantly corrected him. He thought about the hurt in her eyes when he'd enlarged her teeth, so many years ago. He thought about the love in those same eyes when they'd met in person for the first time after the letters. When they realized, the both of them, that love happened in unexpected places. That through some divine guidance and the luck of him looking for a book, he'd discovered that Hermione Granger was so much more than the brainy, loud, bookworm. That she was a protector, a well-wisher. That she would do anything to keep the ones she loved safe - even if it meant formulating a plan that went against almost everything she believed in.

In the last moment before he left, he thought about the two of them as opposites. A fierce, spirited Gryffindor and a weak, selfish Slytherin. He could see why the hat had sorted her there. He almost wished it of himself, for just a moment.

* * *

Hermione had been waiting for nearly ten minutes. As with everything in her life so far, she'd showed up a touch early. This time, though, a lot more was riding on her actions that being tardy to class. It was now that she'd find out if Draco had survived - if she'd live to see his face again, to be held in his arms. To feel his kiss.

At the strike of eleven, she heard footsteps. She whirled around to see him there, in pain but otherwise alright.

"Hermione... you're alright?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Don't worry about me, I kept out of the way. You look rotten though..."

"Thanks, I always love hearing that." He groaned, stepped closer towards her and slipping his arms around her waist. He held her tighter than she remembered him ever doing before, burying his face into the top of her head.

He raised her head, looking into his eyes. "It's done."

"I know. I disarmed him, played my part. For someone who knew what was coming, he had a keen way of not showing it. The look in his eyes..."

"Oh, Draco. I'm so sorry..."

"Don't feel sorry for me." He brought his lips to hers, just once, and only very briefly. "You've suffered a greater loss. I've got more work to do - they'll be looking for me."

"I want to see you after that. You'll stay here, right? At Hogwarts?"

"Of course. They're still, somehow, trying to keep me planted at Hogwarts."

"Then midnight. Here. Send them off, I'll go see Harry and the others and... join the mourning. Oh, Merlin... and I'll come back here."

"Midnight. An hour. Make haste." He kissed her forehead again before running back into the castle, looking back just once to see her standing there, watching him carefully.

* * *

Hermione had done her part - she had mourned honestly and completely, beside her two best friends in the world. She comforted them, cried with them. Harry paused only a moment to ask what she knew - she said they'd discuss it later. There was something in his acceptance that told her that she would be honest with him, and that eventually - maybe not any time soon, but eventually - he would understand why she'd had to hide it from him.

When the crowd began to break up - staff to make arrangements, students to wander the grounds to mourn and talk - Hermione excused herself and walked back to the courtyard, nearly breaking into a run so that she might be able to take Draco somewhere more private before others found them there together. She did reach him first, which would have elicited a sigh of relief had it not been for the condition she found him in.

His wand was raised, pointing at the Death Eater across from him. They were arguing about where Draco had been in the moments after the murder, and Draco's story seemed to be far from belief. Hermione stepped into the light at just the wrong moment, and they both turned to her - the Death Eater with a look of violent hate, Draco with one of sheer shock. Had he forgotten?

"That's Hermione Granger. Get her." She watched Draco's mouth form the words, but could not believe them. What was he doing? Had he... he couldn't have been fooling her all along, no! That was sick, it was...

The Death Eater turned to her, raising his wand - but the slow way in which he wished to taunt her didn't work. Draco shot a stunning spell at him so fast, he didn't even have time to taunt her. The Death Eater turned around, shooting a jet of red light back at Draco, who dodged it. Hermione knew this could not last long - Draco hadn't been sleeping well, and the Death Eater seemed to be an excellent duelist...

She turned and ran, hoping that she might run into someone who might be of some help. To her complete wonder and relief, she ran smack into Professor McGonagall, wand already out.

"Professor, please! It's Draco - there's a Death Eater, in the courtyard..."

McGonagall took off down the path and around the corner, skidding to a halt at the scene.

Draco's feet were inches from the ground, laying limp. A Death Eater - one she did not easily recognize, with his hood drawn over his face - held Draco in a Cruciatus Curse that seemed to last hours, but was over in seconds. Draco fell to the floor without a fight, without moving.

The Death Eater turned to face them now, ignoring Draco's still body.

"They send an old hag and a Mudblood to fight? Shows just how useless your side is... come on then, give me your best."

His overconfidence was probably what lead to his end. McGonagall was fast, and a stream of bright white light crashed into the Death Eater at the same time an angry, bloody red shot from his.

It was that red light that Hermione would see in the final moments before darkness.

* * *

With a gasp, she raised her head. The feeling was something like reaching the surface after having been underwater a great deal of time. She tried to move, tried to look around, but the ache in every part of her body forced her back down. She recognized the beds, the layout of the room, the taut face that rose above her. Poppy Pomfrey was clearly not pleased.

"I told them one visitor at a time, but seeing as one has gone so far as to refuse to leave, you'll have to excuse their noise..."

She moved to reveal Harry and Ron both leaning over her, wide-eyed. Harry spoke.

"Hermione, I... we were so worried."

"What's wrong? What happened?"

Harry sighed, sitting on the side of her bed. "There was a Death Eater. I'm guessing you went to meet... somebody. And the Death Eater was there with him. McGonagall was there, not sure how. She took care of him, he's already in Azkaban, but he knocked you out rather hard."

"How long have I been out? And where is... my friend? He was being tortured. I saw it, it was awful, I..."

Ron chuckled a little, despite the tone. "You've been out a day and a half. It's Friday. Dumbledore... his... his funeral is today. Two hours."

"No. I mean, I knew he... but..."

"Yeah. Big thing. There are reporters everywhere..."

"And..." She lowered her voice to a whisper, nearly just mouthing the words. "And Draco?"

A voice, scratchy and low came from the next bed over. "Present and accounted for."

She'd never been so happy to hear that voice - even though it sounded awful now. "Draco. You're fine?"

"Sore. But yes."

Hermione's next glance around the room revealed three more occupied beds and a handful of other visitors.

"Later. We'll meet later."

She looked over at him, at the bruises on his cheek from the fall, and watched him nod. He did not smile. She didn't blame him. Looking at Harry, she spoke in a low whisper again. "How long has he been here?"

Harry looked over and back again. "Same as you. He could have left yesterday, but kept complaining about pain in his stomach. It took a difficult straight face from me to try and act like it might be left over from the Sectumsempra incident. He didn't want to leave you."

She nodded, ending that part of the conversation. It was all she needed to hear. They would have their reunion later, but doing so now would be stupid. She raised herself slowly off the bed. "I want to shower and dress. I want to be there - the funeral."

Harry nodded, and he and Ron each wound an arm around her middle, helping her to stand. She closed her eyes, held up by their arms. She knew that if Draco still intended to follow them, that things could get rocky. But she always had Harry and Ron, always.

"Hermione?" Harry nearly whispered into her ear. "How much did you know?"

She hesitated before answering him, wincing. "More than you'd have liked. But it's better for both of us if that stays off the table for a while."

Harry nodded solemnly but his hold on her did not falter, and she was glad for it.

* * *

"I've told you the plan."

Draco nodded, his hand on her cheek. Their reunion had been fast and welcome - he'd snogged her like never before, stealing the breath right from her lungs. And he hadn't let go for a long time, either. Didn't intend to. They had both made it, somehow. But the hardest parts were yet to come.

"I do."

"And Draco, you know what this means."

"Yes."

She stirred, slowly and painfully moving her body to face him. "It's not final, you know. You could go back. Or you could hide."

"Hermione... I've been having a house-elf make small withdrawals from Gringott's. Just enough to get us by without really getting noticed. I've gathered only what I think I'll need to keep with me. The decision was made long ago."

"Then you know it won't be easy. We won't return to Hogwarts next year. We'll be traveling - searching for things..."

"You'll have to give me details eventually, but yes."

"Draco, I..."

"Shh. Don't say anything. I know."

He kissed her once more, and then again. And then a few more times. He was well aware of the fact that the path ahead of them was dangerous. But his knowledge of the Dark Lord and his plans would be invaluable to Hermione, Harry, and Ron on their quest to defeat the Dark Lord for good. It would be far from fun - but he'd be able to get them past a few wards, he'd be able to tell them things they'd have never known on their own.

And best of all, he'd be with her the entire way. Yes, he'd have to hide - and only once in total privacy would he be able to kiss her, or talk to any of them. For the most part he'd be a ghost, silently following behind them and doing what he could. But it would be worth it all, in the end, once the Dark Lord's reign was over and he was free to start anew, with her.

He picked up her hand in his own, running the pad of his thumb over her palm. It was such a small, touching gesture that it surprised him. _She_ had surprised him. _Love_ had surprised him. And it had made all the difference in the world.


End file.
